Even Heroes Have The Right to Bleed
by Brindabella
Summary: When Amy loses someone close to her, she needs Alex's support to show her that it's ok to grieve. Together they explore the highs and the lows and turn a corner in their relationship. A sequel to Learning Curves


Date Started: January 23, 2006

Date Finished: February 25, 2006

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to the writer. They remain property of Channel 7 and Southern Star

Dedication: For Emily

Credits: Title borrowed from Five for Fighting's 'Superman' and song credits to: Elton John, Natalie Imbruglia, Josh Groban

© Riss 2006

Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed

A sequel to Learning Curves

People think that cops are made of steel. To put on a gun everyday and deal with some of the craziest lunatics in this world then I guess you do need to be. But the truth is, we're not. We like to think we are, we even like to say we are, but we're not. If we were made of steel we'd never lose a colleague. And I just have. Things like this are never supposed to happen, yet they always do. We all know it's a down fall of the job, just like it is when you join the army or any other dangerous job out there. But yet we strap on the gun belt day after day. For some of us we have no choice. It's what we live for. So we strap on the gun belt and do the job and if we fall then it has been in the line of duty and we can be proud of that.

I hope Garth was proud. Sometimes you just don't know with people. Even those you were really close to, which is the weirdest part about it. You'd think I would know the inner workings of him after all this time, but I'm unsure of whether he died knowing he was doing his part to save the world because I often wondered if to Garth the job was just the job, not his whole life, like it is to me. I think the past damaged him too much and he just did it to earn a living. I know he had the passion, I have no doubt about that, but I don't know if he died proud.

The mother of the child also hit is down the hallway. I can hear her even from here, even though I am doing my darndest to block it out. They told me to sit in here, so I am sitting, but damn it, I want to get up and walk around. Pace the halls if I have to. It's better than sitting in here. The couch is comfy, I'll give them that. But the awful artwork and tacky plastic flowers make my stomach turn, and I haven't even viewed the body yet. Why must hospitals be such sterile, unfriendly places? I hate the silence of them. You walk the halls and you just know that behind all the closed doors are gravely sick people who may never leave. And sure, the nursing staff are friendly, but the hospital is still scary and still imposing. It's like you surrender when you come to hospital. As a visitor I am not surrendering, thank goodness, and I hope I will never have to, but in the mean time I still must identify Garth's body, of which I cannot even picture in my mind being cold on a slab.

Alex is coming. I would never say it out loud, but I am so glad he's on his way. It'll be good not to have to drive home alone tonight. I don't even think I will be able to drive home at all. Not after what happened to Garth and that little girl. God dammit! I can't stand it in this confined space anymore. Out in the hallway I can only hear the mother more. As I stand at the door I have just closed trying to decide which way to go, a woman with frizzy graying hair runs past me, her black coat flying behind her. She lurches into a room just metres away and as she opens the door I can hear the mother. That must be the room they're in. She forgets to close the door the whole way and out of respect I walk up and reach for the handle to close it fully. As I do so my eyes unknowingly drift to the occupants of the room and I see the mother sitting beside the bed screaming, her little girl lying limply in her arms. It is the most haunting and horrifying sobbing I have ever heard and as the woman stands at the end of the bed where the mother and the little blonde child lay, the mother includes a terrifyingly long 'Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmm!' into her screaming. I watch her with scared eyes – I've never seen anything like it. The image is horrific – one I'll never forget as long as I live. So distraught is this mother that I forget even where I am standing and don't come back to reality until a guy pushes past me and into the room, bolting over to the bed.

I step back in shock, surprised that tears are forming in my eyes. I close the door, not breathing, and I feel unbelievably rude for having witnessed their tragic moment. I walk numbly down the hall, the mother's crying continuing behind the closed doors. Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder and I jump a mile, afraid that it will be the grandmother or the father there to tell me off for intruding in their grief. But it's not. It's Alex.

"Oh thank Christ," I whisper, throwing my arms around his neck. He seems surprised at how forward I am being, but holds me just the same.

"I'm sorry about Garth, Amy," he whispers into my ear as I stay in his hug longer than I ever have before. I soon pull away and he holds me at arms length and looks into my eyes, even brushing my fringe out of my eyes quickly as I look downwards, embarrassed still at him touching any part of me. "How are you?"

"Never mind about me, what about them!" I whisper as I gesture towards the closed door, the tears actually starting to roll down my cheeks now. Alex stares at it and quickly comes to realize who's inside and he looks back at me, his eyes downcast in sorrow.

"Was it a kid?" he whispers, sitting himself down on a seat just down the hall and looking downwards as if feeling faint and needing to put his head between his knees.

I nod as I sit beside him, my eyes focusing on the ugly painting on the opposite wall as the tears continue to fall. "A little girl. She had whispy blonde hair and was wearing overalls-" I stop suddenly wondering how I had even noticed her hair colour and her clothing from the few seconds I saw her with her mother. I'm wondering also if my tears are falling out of sympathy for the distraught mother, a parent sadder than I have ever encountered before, the little girl she has just lost or for Garth, who lost his life by her side.

Alex stares over at me, and I can see his eyes glistening with tears under these dreadful blaring lights. "I hate it when it's someone so young," he whispers. "It's such a waste – they're cut short in their prime." His head bows again as I nod in agreement. We can do nothing but sit there and wait. Alex's presence beside me is a small comfort as I come to realise that I'll never see Garth again. I'll never work with him, never have a conversation with him, never solve another case with him. At the thought my heart feels like it's falling down my chest cavity, hitting me on the bottom rib and I double over feeling winded. Alex's hand comes to rest on my back and he rubs it while I stare at the polished lino floor, the crying from the room down the hall from us starting to subside as shock settles in.

Around us, the hospital becomes quiet. I can hear the soft murmuring of the staff at the nurses station and the quiet beeps of machines in various rooms. The eeriness of it reminds me all too much of the day I went with Aunt Sally. That was the only time I'd surrendered myself, and even then it was only because I was made to. It was such a dreadful feeling, having someone poking around inside me, taking something out that had been put there without my permission. And then my awkward shuffling out of the clinic, feeling as though my inside's were coming out and a dull pain at the bottom of my abdomen. Aunt Sally didn't care, she just power walked ahead of me, eager to get me out of her life and away from Uncle John. I know nursing staff are almost never like that – you can rely on them to be kind and actually care about your welfare. But when I shuffled out of that clinic, upset and in pain, I longed to just stay there, under the watchful eyes of the doctors and the social workers, knowing they would take care of me.

I bet that mother feels a bit like I do right now. Her daughter's in hospital, where usually, they can make you better. But not this time. Earlier, I heard an ambulance officer say that the little girl died on route to the hospital – she hadn't stood a chance. Alex is right – it's so unfair. She was only eight and a half. She'd only just begun! And Garth – well sure, Garth had led a crap life at times, but he fought on, as we all do. And he deserved to live a lot longer than he did.

Suddenly I need to hide away. I can't even let Alex see me; I'm too ashamed to be falling apart like this. I think it's only just hitting me, four hours after the event, that the man I once loved is gone. It's hard to take in. Of course it's always difficult when we lose one of our own, but this is Garth. We shared a lot and now it's all gone, splattered across the bumper of that car probably.

Alex notices my shoulders heaving and puts an arm around me. Somehow he always seems to know when I need that. And he knows he doesn't need to say anything – there's nothing anyone could say anyway – and so he just sits beside me and holds me. He mightn't know everything that Garth and I shared, but he knows me enough to know it's affected me. And he, as a cop, understands better than anybody that when one of us dies, we all feel vulnerable. Vulnerable – yes, that's part of how I feel right now. It's not a comforting thought knowing that it could've been you. It could've been any of us. It's strapping on the gun everyday – you know everyday comes with a risk and everyday could be your last. Maybe that's why we put everything we've got into everything we do. I do anyway. It could be your last chance.

My tears are falling through my fingers as I continue to shield my face from the rest of the world. Even the sound of heavy boots walking towards us doesn't make me look up. They'll keep going. No, they're stopping. I know those boots – it's the district inspector. I stand up, fumbling to brush my tears away, taking a quick and sudden deep breath so that I actually look like a police officer. A police officer who doesn't lose it on the job.

"Detective Fox," he shakes my hand strongly, as he has always done. I remember being taken aback by the strength of his handshake on Graduation Day. Ordinarily I'm used to it, but then this isn't an ordinary situation.

"Sir," my voice croaks and I clear it and have another go. "Sorry," I apologise. "_Sir_," I've lost myself again, just like I do with everything that is out of the ordinary. First it was sharing Thai with Alex, now it's shaking the district inspector's hand. I struggle to pull myself together, as Alex stands annoyingly with ease and confidence beside me. I pull in my stomach, push back my shoulders and pull the wet hair from in front of my eyes.

"Don't apologise detective," he says. He was always kind like this; I know I shouldn't be embarrassed at a few tears squeezing out. "I know this is a difficult time, Henderson was a fine officer," he smiles sympathetically at me, but doesn't go as far as to give a comforting pat on the shoulder. That would be too close for a district inspector. He's a nice guy, but like all the cops high up in the ranks, he doesn't know his staff as well as he did when he was a lowly sergeant in charge of a bunch of fresh new constables.

I nod and look for an escape route – this is just too intense. I look over at Alex as the inspector speaks, staring me square in the eye. I always look people in the eye when I talk to them or they are talking to me, but from the moment I stood up, my head felt fuzzy, and as the inspector finishes his sentence I actually have to put my hand on Alex's arm for support. He looks at me, alarmed, and grabs my elbow to keep me upright as the inspector gives us a nod and walks away.

"Amy?" he eases me back into my chair.

I give my head a vigourous shake in a desperate attempt to be an adult, as well as a cop. "Sorry, sorry," I apologise, going through the whole routine over again of pulling back my shoulders and filling my lungs with air. Alex looks at me quizzically and stands up and looks at me as though I was always supposed to follow him.

"Well come on," he gestures, an element of sympathy still in his voice despite his choice of words. "We've got a job to do." His back turned to me, he walks away from me, down the hallway and towards the door I had closed before the father came bolting down the hall. I get up, standing on unsteady feet and reach to stop his hand from turning the handle.

"What are you doing!" I whisper coarsely looking at him with fear in my eyes. He blinks back at me, surprised.

"We have to interview the parents," he replies, looking at me as though I have truly lost it. Little does he know that I think I already have. "Get their details," he reaches to turn the handle again. "Didn't you hear what the inspector said?"

He doesn't wait for me to answer, and heads into the room, his clipboard resting in the crook of his left elbow. I follow, knowing I should take the lead in this interview, but not very sure of how to go about it. For the first time in my career I feel like I don't know what I'm doing, and then I see the little girl on the bed – I wish I knew her name – and she is so still. What a tiny thing, she doesn't even look the age that she apparently is. She's got an angelic face, the kind you know would smile widely at you if you offered to be her cart wheeling partner, or shared a game of totem tennis with her.

Her mother is at the open window and sits on the sill, letting the fresh air from outside breeze against her blotchy face. Her father lies on the bed beside his daughter, hugging her still frame, his eyes closed, his hands clutching at her arms, his face buried in her neck. I feel terrible for walking in on such a moment, a moment when they are obviously still distraught. I look around and notice members of the family sitting on all the outer edges of the room, as though they can't bear to be close to the bed. Their eyes tell a different story though, and as I pull myself together, knowing I need to get on with my job, I do not allow myself to look into their eyes again.

I walk up to the mother at the window sill and with all my courage I speak. "I'm so sorry to disturb you at such a time," I begin, my voice already warbling. I clutch my hands in front of me, feeling the sweat that quickly forms there. It makes my hands slip out of each other and they dangle uselessly by my sides. She looks forlornly over at me with blank eyes. She has a heart shaped face, big eyes and a wide mouth which I imagine would become a beautiful smile when she is happy. But for now she stares at me with blank eyes, wondering what in the world I am doing there, after her daughter has just been killed.

She can't even speak, and this increases the lump in my throat. She just stares at Alex and I, and I am unsure of how to go on, but like a robot, the words come out without thinking. "I'm Detective Senior Constable Fox and this is Sergeant Kirby," I say quietly, knowing that offering my hand in a handshake is inappropriate, so it continues to dangle by my side, not knowing what to do.

The grandmother comes up behind us and sits beside the mother, taking her hand and stroking it. I notice that the frizzy hair that hangs near her eyes is damp, just like mine is, just like the mother's is, just like everyone's in this room is. This little girl must've been the centre of their world. "I'm Lucy Panello, Bella's grandmother," she informs me quietly, still stroking the mothers hand. "And this is my daughter Jackie Wyllie."

Alex and I nod and smile, knowing she will go on. "What can we help you with?" I am amazed at her calmness right now – if that were me, I'd probably have jumped off that window sill.

Suddenly I am lost for words – whatever I say will upset her. As it is Jackie cannot even look at us anymore. Maybe it's for the best – I don't know how much longer I could've stared into those blank sorrowful eyes. I look desperately to Alex for help. He understands and takes the lead, opening up his folder and uncapping his pen. "We just need a few details Mrs Panello, about your…ahhh...grand daughter," I watch him speak and see him swallow hard as he mentions the little girl.

As he takes down the details from Mrs Panello, I look with despair at Bella's lifeless body. For some reason I cannot drag my eyes away and it is not til Alex grabs my elbow moments later that I finally get up and leave the room. As we walk out, shutting the door gently behind us, Alex reaches for my hand and holds it tightly as we make our way down the corridor. I know where we are going, and after what we just went through I don't want to even think about identifying Garth's body, but I know I must be done. We make our way out of the building and across the way to the other building, where the morgue resides in all its ugliness.

Minutes later I am standing in the dark room, the sterile smell of the hospital even more defined in the morgue. I look through the plate glass window at his body lying on the cold metal slab, covered entirely with a sheet, except for his head. He has a strange look on his face, one I realise I have never seen before, and it occurs to me finally that perhaps he did die proud, knowing he'd done his duty. I nod quickly at the nurse to confirm that it is my Garth, and quickly walk out of the room, my head down, my legs walking quickly, back to the land of the living.

"You ok?" Alex asks as I rejoin him at the nurses station. I don't answer, just hang my hand by my side and flick it toward his, hoping he'll grab it. He does and we walk back to the other building in silence. I almost don't want to pass the room where Bella lay but there is no other option. Alex's car is parked on the other side of the children's building, and so is mine. As we walk up that bloody hallway Jackie and her husband exit the room, carrying the shoes Bella had been wearing when we interviewed Lucy. They walk up the hall together, in the opposite direction from Alex and I, his arm around her waist and we go our separate ways, without a sideways glance. As more distance comes between us, I hear a scuffling and I look over my shoulder only to see Jackie bend out of her husband's grip and run desperately back to the closed door, the tears spilling down her cheeks still. "I can't!" she screeches, not able to leave her daughter for the last time. I look at Alex and he squeezes my hand, brings a hand up to my cheek and moves my head back to face forwards and we walk out of the building.

We drive back to Mt Thomas in silence. I am just grateful he is even here. When something shit happens I don't usually have someone there to support me, so just him being here is so nice. Makes me feel a little safer. Still, my head is a little up in the clouds. I didn't even think about his car being left in the car park at the hospital – seems his only concern was getting me home. I sit numbly in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead as the headlights of other cars flash past us, blinding me time and time again. Before I even realise we are driving down my own street we are in my driveway, at the back of my block of flats. For some reason I can't even move and Alex watches me for a moment before actually reaching over and undoing my seatbelt for me. Still I cannot move even though inside I desperately want to leap from the car and possibly curl up into a ball on the grass and just bawl. He comes around to my side and opens the door reaching for my hand and helping me out. I feel so helpless! Why can't I move like a normal person? As I straighten up, my knees give way and just like when we were talking to the district inspector, Alex has to grab my elbow to keep me up right. A lone tear slips down my face as he helps me to the door and up the stairwell. With a soft brush of his thumb he wipes it away and whispers in my ear, his breath tingly and warm by the side of my face. "It's ok Amy," he says. "I think you're going into shock."

Shock? Shock! Me! Hmmm maybe I am. After all, it has not been a normal day at the office. But I am not supposed to fall apart like this. Since when has Amy Fox needed someone to help her up the stairs? Since the man she used to love got hit by a car, that's when. He was apart of my life for a while, and now he's gone – where the hell does that leave me! My knees buckle again, but luckily we've reached my front door. I fumble with the lock and finally crash through the door, my legs now feeling like jelly. Funny how as a child I used to love jelly, just couldn't stop eating it, but now it makes me want to vomit. Especially right now.

Holding the walls for balance, I make it to my room, totally disbelieving that Alex is just two steps behind me. I spill into the room, not even turning on the light, which of course makes me trip over whatever it was that I left on the floor this morning. I flop onto the bed, all the energy suddenly zapped from my body. I feel so lifeless, maybe because two lives have just been lost today. Either way I try to crawl under the sheets but have little success and so Alex reaches over and does it for me. I press my face into the pillow, trying to hide my tears, and while I'm not looking, Alex lays down beside me. I pull my face out from the depths of the duck down of my ever reliable pillow and look at him through glassy, blurry eyes. He just smiles a small smile and eases my fringe back from being in my eyes. He just lies with me all night, and when I close my eyes he is still there.

I wake up as soon as the sun is up, because I didn't shut the curtains the night before. Squashing my face into the pillow to hide from the glare I reach out a hand to the opposite side of the bed, wondering if I will feel another body there – the body that made sure I fell asleep ok last night. He's not there this morning though, and I think part of me was expecting that. It probably would've been too awkward had he stayed anyway. It was a relief to fall asleep knowing someone was watching over me though. It meant, for the first time in a long time, I slept without dreams.

I stumble out of bed, still not the Amy Fox everyone knows and relies on to be level headed and under control. It feels wrong to be this way. I so badly want to feel normal again, just like I was this time yesterday morning. I'm just not supposed to be like this. Thank God I live alone. Imagine if someone else were to see me this way! It's bad enough Alex saw me.

I stand in front of the dresser, wondering if I should even bother to change my clothes. In a way, I want to rip them off, because the scent of the hospital clings to them, and because they are crumpled and wrinkled from sleeping in them. The rest of me overpowers that notion though, and the 'I can't be bothered' feeling wins out, and I walk out the door without breakfast and without getting changed. I sling my big purple overcoat on as I walk down the stairs, which does the job it's supposed to do – it covers so many blots in my appearance. I hop into my car, trying to remember where Garth used to hide his spare key. As I jiggle the keys in the ignition and my little bug burbles into life, it comes to me. You'd think a copper would be smarter than to hide his spare key under a rock in the front garden, but that's what Garth did. He used to say that burglars were over finding spare keys under rocks – they knew no one did that anymore because it was so unsafe. And that's why Garth hid his there. Reverse psychology I guess.

Sometimes I hate how Melbourne is such a trek from Mt Thomas. Other times I love it because it means I can get away from the rat race of the city and have my little quiet country town all to myself, as if in another world. But today I just try to enjoy the drive, even though my mind keeps flicking back to the day before when I heard the news about Garth and broke all speed limits getting to the hospital, only to be shoved in a waiting room that made me feel claustrophobic.

Finally I turn into his street though, and just like it had been a ritual years ago, I park down the street so as not to attract any attention. The thing I loved about 'us', was that no one really knew we were involved. It was our little secret. It was thrilling and romantic, and it made me hungry for more. We always just had each other all to ourselves. And because we couldn't have it in the office, we made the most of time alone. Just us.

Oh God, he hasn't changed. I haven't been here for 6 years but everything is exactly how it was 6 years ago. I smile sadly to myself, willing to let it all go in exchange for him still being alive. Sure, we weren't together anymore, but we were…once. And it's hard to forget. I shuffle up the walk, sheltered from the early morning frost thanks to my coat and squat down to get the spare key from under the rock by the petunias. I enter the silent building and walk up to the fifth floor. It is like I've gone in a time machine back to 1999, walking those stairs up to meet him. Like I did most nights. Now it makes me shudder at the thought – the thought that I'll be entering his flat and it'll be empty. I'm afraid of what it will feel like. But I can't wimp out now. Who else is going to do this? He doesn't have anybody else.

As I turn the key in the lock I feel the emptiness already, and as I open the door the smell of him engulfs me, so much so that I have to step back out into the hallway and take in a gulp of fresh air to make myself not cry again. Inside I pick over the mindless male clutter that every bachelor accumulates and then am struck by just how much Garth's career is reflected in his flat. He's just like the rest of us – married to the job. His graduation photo is in a nice silver frame mounted on the wall above the fireplace, his constables' certificate displayed proudly beside it in another frame. There are no pictures of his immediate family, just a few of his nieces and nephews. There is a mounted landscape photo of the Opening Ceremony from Sydney on the wall in the hallway – I remember now, he loved his sport.

I sit down at his tiny kitchen table, I'm trying to take it all in. His presence is just so strong it's almost like he's still living here, not on a slab in the morgue. His dirty dishes are still in the sink and the sunshine blares through the curtains he promised he would get cleaned the last time I was here. Yeah sure you'll get them cleaned Garth! You said you'd get them cleaned 6 years ago! I stand up, restless, wondering why I'm going nutty over such a trivial thing. Nothing can be done now. He's gone.

Feeling like a burglar myself, I tip toe into his bedroom, not wanting to make a sound for some reason. Even though he's dead I still feel like I'm invading his space. The door creaks open as I push it tentatively, and I peak inside to find the bed against the opposite wall from what it used to be, and a new set of bookshelves in the corner. They are gorgeous – a deep red wood, thick and sturdy, filled with neat rows of books and magazines. He was a clean freak – just like me. In so many ways we were so similar. It used to make me think we were perfect for each other.

I sit down dejectedly on his bed, just letting my legs swing back and forth as I stare at my surroundings. My eyes fall upon his bedside table. It wasn't like a normal bedside table. It was bare except for a lamp and a stained coffee mug. I wrench annoyingly at the drawer underneath, trying to find some normalcy – a stuffed drawer, a secret block of chocolate, a Ralph magazine – anything to make it seem as though he and I weren't so similar. It is beginning to hurt as I realise more and more that we really were two of a kind.

I smile though as I open the drawer, thankful that it is stuffed full of junk, just as I was hoping for. Receipts, police issue note paper, his grandfathers war medals, a scattering of Fantales, a deck of cards and layers upon layers of notes he'd made about cases that never made it into the filing cabinet at the station. I rifle through it all, still feeling bad about invading his privacy, but desperate to find what I hoped was still there, after all these years. It takes me more than 5 minutes, and it's only a little drawer, but eventually I find it. That photo of him and I, back when we were stationed in Kings Cross. Wow, is that even me? We both look so different – it was before we had our love tarnished by our pasts. God, I can't believe we were ever so in love, no one would recognise the look on my face in this picture today.

I lie back on the bed just holding the photo up and staring at it. I remember the day it was taken. It was late, the end of shift and the day had been a quiet one. One of the other constables had just been on a holiday and had one shot left on his camera, which he was going to drop into the 24 hour place to be developed on his way home. As we walked out the door to head home, he insisted Garth and I strike a pose for the camera to use up that last shot. I don't know what possessed us – after all no one knew that anything was going on between us, and why we chose that fleeting moment to expose it all I still can't work out, but he pulled me in for a steamer of a kiss and click went the camera. Months later Garth showed me it, promising me he'd put it in a frame and keep it on his bedside table – he liked it that much he said. He never put it in a frame, but I always knew it was in his drawer. Somehow it meant more there – our love could stay secret that way and only he or I could stare at it because we were the only ones who knew where it was.

God I miss him. Why do I miss him? Why is this all so confusing? I miss him terribly, even though we haven't been together for so long now. It makes me feel like I don't have the right to bleed, the right to mourn. Should I care? Should I not? I just don't know. We were lovers…once.

Oh Jesus, why does the sun always have to pierce me right in the eye in the morning? I turn over to face away from the window as the sun light streams into my little bedroom. I've been tossing and turning all night long, so I am almost glad it's morning. But then I also wished that today would never come. How am I going to face it? And face it alone? This time no one's going to be there to hold my hand or stand beside me. It'll just be other people like myself, paying their respects, drowning in their own grief but keeping it away from view. They practically tell you not to show emotion at the academy, and so police funerals are always sombre, quiet affairs, all the same, yet all different. Everyone turns out to them – it's just what you do. A mark of respect for an officer who has fallen whether you served with them for a two weeks or two years. It's just what we do. Like a little secret society.

Alex can't get the day off to be with me. I know he wanted to and he knew I wanted him to too, but nothing could be done. A part of me wanted to kick up a fuss and screech and moan like a child until I got my way, but I know I can't do that. Yet another thing I didn't have the right to do. And so I make myself roll out of bed and into some clothes – the ones I always wear to funerals (not that I've been to many) and out the door. It's so cold this morning, jeez, I'd give anything to be back in bed, and not just cos it's cold.

It was the same scene I'd seen at other police funerals. Uniformed officers, in their pressed best, milling around looking sombre with their drawn faces. They discuss Garth and the great job he used to do. Police funerals might be a time to pay your final respects but they're also a chance to catch up with old mates. Not under the nicest of circumstances of course, but still a catch up all the same. I guess they're not that bad then. We always come from miles around to farewell a fallen hero. There's this little something in the police force – we look after our own, and when one falls we are always on hand to say goodbye.

Again, I'm finding it hard to keep the lump in my throat down. I know I shouldn't be ashamed or embarrassed to be sad about Garth's death, but never before have I showed such emotion in front of the rest of the world and so I just can't change it all today. So I sit in the church, finding myself in the very front row for some reason and I don't cry. It's bloody hard, but I keep it inside. We all salute our colleague as his coffin is carried away and then follow it slowly outside where it will be driven away.

I'll be thankful when this is over. It really feels like it is dragging. Actually, my whole body feels as though it is dragging. Must've been the complete lack of sleep I got last night. As I stumble out of the church, I'm so tempted to just slip away and run back to Mt Thomas – anything to get away from what the police force has made Garth's funeral into. I know it was never intended, but I'd much prefer to have my time to sit by his grave and have a good cry – not have to conform with all the rules and regs and tradition of a police funeral. I have to get away.

There are so many people here that it isn't hard. As everyone wanders forward I veer left and run back to my car the tears falling silently down my face like rain. I speed back to Mt Thomas, reaching the little country town in record time, screech to a halt at the back of my block of flats, run up the stairs – not an easy thing to do in the shoes I'm wearing - and through my front door and again, feeling like a kid throwing a tantrum, I hurl myself onto my bed and simply bawl. For some reason I just need to get it out of my system and sooner than I expect, I actually feel better and sit up and wipe my eyes. The air in my bedroom is a little stale because of so little movement over the last few days, but it fills my lungs quickly and it feels good to gain a little strength back at last. Still, I'm a bit sad – I've just been to a funeral after all. Who can smile about that?

It's time to be around people Amy! Get out of the bloody house and be a human being for once! I quickly wipe at my eyes again, stare wide eyed into the mirror on my dressing table to make sure my eyes are not too red and ease myself into a more comfortable pair of shoes. I still keep my jacket on – my big purple security blanket – but I've gotta get those shoes off. I pad out of my bedroom and into the lounge, heading to the front door and as I go to grab the brass handle a soft knock sounds on the other side. I reel back in surprise, whipping my hand away from the handle as if it's on fire. The knock sounds again, louder this time.

I get a grip and turn the handle and who is there but Alex Kirby. He smiles at me, his hands in his pockets, the grind of the day easily visible on his face. He's been on the early morning shift, I can tell. I crack out a sympathetic smile in return and then move forward tentatively to hug him. He slips an arm around my waist rather than hugging me and we walk into my lounge room. As we stand in front of the couch I look into his eyes briefly. It's a quick moment, but somehow a turning point. The side of my body is up against the side of his, and his big hand holds my hip loosely. I can see he's tired but there's also a look of curiousity in his eyes. I suppose it has been a plaguing question for him – how did Amy handle the funeral today? I suppose they're all wondering that at the station right now. It embarrasses me that everyone at work is feeling sorry for me today – I've never been one to want anyone's sympathy. It just makes me feel weaker and smaller. But Alexs' is different. It's like he understands how I feel about everything. He makes me feel like an equal when I am sad – not small and weak. And I feel like he is the only one who can understand me and make me feel better because of this uncanny ability that he has. Of course, it helps even more when someone holds me and spurred on by this thought I break the silence between us.

"Hold me closer," I say, looking at him with pleading eyes, trying to convey to him what I so desperately need. He stares into my eyes, peels my coat off my shoulders, throwing it aside, and then lowers himself onto my tiny two seater couch. He lies along it, having to bend his knees to keep his feet from hanging off the end. His head propped up on a cushion, I stand uselessly in front of him, so unsure of what to do when he grabs my right hand and pulls me down to lay in the little nook of space left next to him on the couch. Cautiously I lay along it, closer to Alex than I have ever been, and he wraps his arms around me. I settle into the curves of his body, positioning myself to feel the warmth that radiates from his chest and his arms. I seem to fit perfectly into him, the couch seeming as though it was made to fit Alex and Amy exactly. I don't even feel cold without my coat - his arms are providing enough warmth and I lay there, my head resting lightly on his shoulder, the top of my head just touching his chin as he pulls me closer to him and I feel safer and more loved than I ever have in my whole life.

Hold me closer tiny dancer

Count the headlights on the highway

Lay me down in sheets of linen

You had a busy day today

Just when I thought I was getting over this whole thing, up it pops again. I can't say that I am upset at hearing PJ's voice on the other end of the phone though, it was just that I had been endeavouring for a week now to put Garth's death away in my mental filing cabinet where it would never be seen again. But then PJ surprises me with a mid afternoon phone call, and it all comes flooding back. I know he is going to talk about Garth.

"How are you holding up Amy?" he asks in his usual caring tone. I can picture him on the other end of the phone – sitting at his desk, the phone cradled in his shoulder, his hands shuffling through the files that cover his entire desk space, his leather jacket on, the tired but driven look on his face and the passionate look in his eyes.

I shake my head at the receiver. "I'm fine PJ," I roll my eyes. "You weren't worrying about me were you?" I can feel my smug smile creeping onto my face, the smile that hides a multitude of secrets and never to be revealed feelings.

"Amy," I can feel him smiling his own smug smile, the one that says 'I know you better than that'. "How are you really?"

I can't help it. As I answer a tear does come to my eye and I choke back a little sob. "I'm ok," I whisper back even though I am alone in my office and no one would be able to hear me anyway. "I'm getting there," I try to distract myself by stuffing some my files into the drawer to my right, trying to ignore the fact they are far from finished. I try to bring our conversation back to business. "How was the autopsy?"

"It was fine…" I can tell just from the tone of his voice that he knows the details but doesn't want to upset me by telling me them. I scoff at his reply. If he knows me so well he should know that I am hard enough to handle just about anything. But then maybe he knows me so well, scarily well, that he knows I like to think I can handle everything but really, in all truth, sometimes I can't. Garth's death has just recently proved that.

There is a long pause form PJ's end as I wait for him to continue speaking and I detect a hint of the hesitant. I'm not a detective for nothing, and I didn't work with PJ for as long as I did and not know him almost inside out. "Is there something you're not telling me PJ?" I ask with a tone that demands an answer.

"They've been sniffing around about Garth Amy," he tells me.

"What do you mean sniffing around?" I ask, my antennae immediately up.

"Like delving into his past, wanting to know his state of mind, wanting to know the details of every case he's ever worked on – especially the ones with you," I can hear him sigh at the other end.

"With me?" Why me? I've had not much at all to do with Garth for years now!

"Yeah," he answers. "I don't know. Somewhere, somehow, someone's got a hold of something that just isn't sitting right with them about Garth. Now that he's dead they seem to be thinking they can do whatever they like," he sighs again, knowing in his heart it is not a good thing. "It's not like he's here to stop them."

"Who do you mean?" I ask, the panic rising in my throat. "Internal affairs?" I shudder inwardly. Internal affairs – the cops even cops fear. Even though I have never been bent, and I never will be, I am still a little afraid of internal affairs. I have nothing to hide, but I'm still afraid. They'd probably find something.

"Yeah," he whispered. "And even his work mates. Everyone here except for me it seems. They've all of a sudden got suspicious of everything about him. I mean, you know how secretive he was Amy."

I nod in a reply that he can't see. Garth was secretive in exactly the same way I am. But to think they are delving into Garth's little world – the world he only ever shared with me - is just not on. I begin to twirl my hair with my fingers, something I only do when something is rubbing me the wrong way. "What's wrong with being secretive?" I have to take a deep breath to stop myself from screeching at my messenger. "I don't care if he's dead, he still has the right to some secrets!"

"Amy, Amy," he soothes me, but it doesn't work as well as he wants it to, I can tell. Sometimes even PJ cannot bring the pressure down – hard to believe, but true. "Don't get yourself into a state," his voice is even more soothing now, he's really lathering it on, but to my surprise, it seems to be working at last.

I sit at my desk, my hand propping up my chin, as I stare at the piles of papers scattered willy nilly over my desk. They've piled up big time since Garth's death – my mind has not really been on work a whole lot. The Boss will soon be on my back about it. He's been good so far, letting it slide, knowing I need a bit of time, but I know he can't let it slide forever. He knows it too. I need to smarten up my act and get my mind back on the job, but just the look of these piles upon piles of paperwork makes me want to close my eyes and just hide away for a very long time.

When I don't say anything he goes on, still with that soothing tone in his voice. "I know it's not the best time, but be expecting a phone call. They're gonna wanna talk to you. And you know Internal Affairs – it's always at the most inconvenient of times," he is rolling his eyes, I just know. PJ Hasham has had his fair share of dealings with Internal Affairs, that's for sure, and if I should be taking advice from anyone, it's him.

His words strike a little bit of fear into me though – what will they ask me? What will they want to know? Internal Affairs are not the cops I like to spend much time with. It's not that I'm against keeping the force on the straight and narrow, it's just…I don't know. I think they scare us all a little bit. You're either in the clear with them or your career is over, and it can be a very fine line between the two.

PJ knows I am still listening – he can probably hear my uneven breathing into the receiver. "Just be prepared Amy, that's all I'm trying to say," I feel a little better that I have gotten this warning in advance, but it doesn't make me any less nervous. Those cops turn me into the exact opposite of the hardened detective that I have made myself into. And they're going to keep Garth on my mind for even longer than I had intended. What am I going to do?

"Thanks PJ," I croak into the phone. A lump is starting to rise in my throat – only the billionth one this week. I stand up from my chair, the phone still cradled between my ear and my shoulder and try desperately to control the sound of my voice. "I have to go," I say quickly and as an after thought, speak again. "Thanks for calling mate," I whisper. He returns my farewell and we hang up, almost reluctantly.

I walk in a daze into the mess room, my body feeling strange all of a sudden. As I enter, I see no one else is in here and I sigh with relief. No one can see me like this – that's good. I stand at the bench, all set to make myself a coffee but I can't get my hands to move so I just lean on the edge of the bench and stare blankly at the cupboards in front of me. The tears are rolling down my face, but I almost can't feel them. I don't think I'm crying over the death of Garth so much anymore – it's more the fact that I'm so much more scared now because he is gone and it could well have been me – his other half. Somehow we're still so connected. Maybe what we had was meant to last a lifetime but we didn't do enough to make it work. One day it very well could be me in the morgue, and it frightens the living daylights out of me. Catching murderers and rapists jostles me, questioning lunatics makes me question my own mind, rescuing exploited children makes my heart ache, but knowing that one day – any day – it could be me, just gone…that frightens me.

I start sobbing, louder and louder, and I know all the while anyone could walk in – hell, they can probably even hear me from the other end of the station. It's something like what I could hear from Jackie Wyllie when Bella passed away, and that thought makes me cry even more. And suddenly a hand touches my arm and I look up and it's Alex. "Don't cry Amy," he whispers. How can he say that? It's not as easy as saying 'don't cry'. No one can just stop when someone says that. It angers me somewhat and I stand up straighter, shoving off his hand and getting my voice back.

"How am I supposed to move on from this Alex?" I yell, the tears still flowing rapidly. "How!" I storm across the room and yank open my locker, disappointed at the lack of its contents. Nothing to throw at him – damn. I stand pathetically at my locker, my head resting against the cool metal and I hear him walk over quickly, definite meaning in his step. Knowing he is just steps away from me I turn around to face him, and to my surprise he envelopes me into his arms tightly and I sag against him, crying even harder, screaming into his shoulder as I tumble to an incredible low there in the mess room, unable to keep calm about the situation.

It is exactly what I need from him though – I certainly can't rescue myself at this moment. I have never needed anyone else to scrape me up off the floor before, but right now I do, and the only person who cares enough about me to do it is Alex. Alex…gosh, he's stuck around through all of this. Why is he always there when I need him? What's making him stick by me?

I just can't stop crying – I feel like I'm just totally falling apart and I've always forbidden myself to be like this. I'm just not supposed to be, not me, not Amy Fox. He suddenly lets go of me and does the last thing I was expecting. He bends down and scoops me up, whisking my feet off the floor, walks me out of the mess room, down the hallway and out the back entrance. I am so shocked that I stop bawling for a moment, but it doesn't last long. Just like in a movie, where the soldier rescues the woman in danger, he whisks me away and suddenly I feel a lot safer. A funny feeling runs through me as I keep my arms tight around his neck, my head still buried in his neck, making the shoulder of his uniform all damp and clammy. He effortlessly loads me into the passenger seat of his car, secures my seatbelt around my still limp body before hopping into the drivers seat and driving to my flat yet again. Just like on the way home from Melbourne, I can't move, something has paralysed me and I'm at the mercy of anyone and anything. Why has this death affected me so much? I come across death in my line of work so regularly that I thought I'd be used to it by now. I suppose that's the thing – I just assumed I was as strong as I make myself out to be. But I guess I'm not. Today I'm not anyway. And I haven't been since Garth was killed.

When we reach my flat Alex runs out of his seat and comes around to mine, opening my door and undoing my seat belt as if I am an invalid. I hate it, but I can't move anyway, so someone has to do it. Again he scoops me up – my throat is so choked up with emotion that I can't protest, and takes me up to my flat. Once inside he takes me to my bedroom, and as we get closer I get my voice back and begin to protest. We're moving too fast here, he can't come into my bedroom, my sanctuary. I struggle in his hold, but only slightly – I don't have the strength for much more. But he has a firm grip on me and kicks open the door gently with his shoe, with me still holding on for dear life, fear ripping through me now as much as the sadness is.

He places me delicately on my bed so that my head is resting softly on the pillow. We stare at each other for a moment, him standing over me, concern written all over his face. It feels awkward because I am never the weak one. But since meeting Alex Kirby it seems like I have been the weak one many times, even though he's the one who was shot way back when.

I look into his eyes and something in my mind prompts me to speak up finally. But it is not something I ever thought I'd say to Alex. "Will you lie with me?" my voice still choked and sobby.

He smiles and saunters around to the other side of my bed where he sits down and takes his boots off before getting comfortable lying beside me. We face each other and I lose my breath for a moment just being so close to him and he has just played the hero and rescued me from certain station embarrassment. My breath catches in my throat but I swallow quickly and brush my fringe from my eyes, trying desperately to gather up some courage to speak. "Why can't I handle this Alex? Why can't I be strong? Why do I keep falling apart?" I look longingly at him, his face just a hand span from my own, seeking answers so badly.

"Amy, you're allowed to feel like this," he whispers in reply. "Even heroes have the right to bleed," he strokes my arm, making the skin feel warm and tingly – a feeling that runs up my arm like electricity. His other hand wiggles up from underneath him and with one finger he pulls my chin up and looks me in the eye. "You can't always be strong," he says. Somehow he has read my mind. Again.

For once in my life I feel like I have to make the first move, especially after he has just inspired me to no end by telling me I don't need to be strong all the time. When I don't answer we are silent once more, but to close the gap I lean in and gently touch my lips to his, tasting his essence for only the second time ever. He responds, pressing his lips into mine and reaching up to hold my cheek. It's a totally brand new feeling, and oh so thrilling, I can't stop. He kisses me again, smiling as he does so, and then moves on to kiss my cheeks and my nose. My heart is beating wildly, but shit it feels great, and as he lightly kisses my forehead I reach up and run my left hand across his temple and run my thumb lightly down the edge of his ear, feeling his prickly warm skin underneath my fingertip before pulling my lips up to his once more in the hungriest kiss I've ever wanted.

He touches my face as though I am a porcelain doll, fragile and very breakable, and I suppose that's what I am. Amazing that he has cottoned on to this so quickly. He can read me like a book. He's not realised the new fire that is burning inside me though and I am startled at how quickly it has taken hold and how much it is making me want to act. It's turning me into someone different – maybe the person I was when I was with Garth? I'm not sure, but for now it feels extraordinary and I almost become someone else as he continues to kiss my skin. I can't keep my lips away from his, which is strange as I thought I'd be pretty rusty and not very into this. After all it's been a long time since I've done anything even remotely close to this.

We stop for a second and catch our breath. I can't believe how quickly I've heated up, it's a bit scary. We lie in the same positions and just stare at each other before a bolt rips up my spine. "Oh God, I can't help myself," I breathe and grab his head, bringing his lips to mine yet again. Where has this come from Amy Fox! I've hardly ever been like this, but Alex isn't objecting. It's funny, I never imagined I could ever be like this with a man again, but today has been a day of firsts. Something has just come over me, that bolt just keeps rushing up my spine, tingling my entire body and as I tingle again Alex's hands squirm in front of him undoing the buttons on his shirt with such eagerness and excitement I almost let out a giggle. I watch him, wondering what I am getting myself into, when, without my even realising it, my hand reaches over to help him tug off the blue material. It exposes his shoulder and as my hand brushes against it I feel the warmth there, the same warmth that seems to be radiating from me. For the hundredth time, my breath catches in my throat and as the electricity runs through me he continues to seduce me totally and completely with his kisses. I shrug off my jacket and manage to kick off my shoes with a little difficulty. I look back at Alex and he is unfazed, just smiling at my little fumbles, which I blush profusely at.

He runs his finger down my jaw bone. Lightly. Softly. Delicately. Ending with his finger on my lips, he traces the outline and then goes to kiss me once again. His hand travels down my neck, setting my skin on fire with every centimetre. He reaches my collarbone, his hand tucked just under the collar of my shirt, and strokes the unexplored skin there. I writhe slightly under the touch and our lips meet eagerly once again. His hand explores further and while it's thrilling and breathtaking, it's beginning to feel uncomfortable. Too close for comfort. Too far in what I want to allow. He's still got me 100 under his spell, but I'm starting to shrink away from his hold. It doesn't feel right, I can't handle this much. Amy Fox is a shy one. No one can get her completely.

I sit up quickly, almost bumping my head on the headboard, and rush to adjust my shirt back into position. I scamper backwards, away from Alex, half falling, half leaping from the bed, the passion still within me but quickly being overtaken by a chilling fear. What am I doing! What was I _about_ to do! He got so close, what was I thinking? It just can't happen…it just can't.

I stand unsteadily on my feet and avoid Alex's eyes. He too is sitting up now, a hurt and confused look on his face as he stares intently at me, probably wondering what he did wrong. Truth is, it's me, not him. Part of me wants to jump right back on top of him and feel what it is I've been missing out on for so long, but most of me says no. It's the responsible part of me, the part that says 'no don't do this Amy', the part of me that's scared the most. Tears well in my eyes as he stands up to be in front of me. He grips my arms and speaks.

"What's wrong Amy?" he asks quietly, his eyes big question marks.

"I can't do this," I stumble on my words as I back away hurriedly. "Not yet. Not now. I'm sorry," my eyes fall downcast as I die a little bit inside, knowing I have screwed up something that could've been amazing had I let it.

My head hurts as I sit numbly at my desk today, less than twenty four hours since that moment with Alex. I feel awful today, just shocking. I feel so ashamed that I initiated what we did and then backed out because I'm so gutless and I never take risks. As soon as he walked out the door I wanted to grab his hand and hurl him back inside, but I couldn't. I wouldn't let myself be so…up front. I want to be, God I want to be, especially after feeling what his presence could do to me, but something is holding me back. What it is, I'm not quite sure yet.

A knock sounds at my door, and I look up, jolting in my seat from the surprise. The blinds are shut, so I can't see who's on the other side, but just as I call out for them to come in, they barrel in anyway. The first thing I notice is the shiny shoes and the sombre suits. Then I recognise the face of Paul Donald and his little hanger on and back come those chills, only this time they are whistle-blowing-cops chills, not I-can't-let-you-get-this-close-to-me chills.

I decide to be bold and speak before they can even get a word out. "I thought you guys called first?" I said suspiciously, knowing I could very well be getting in their bad books before we even begin the interrogation.

"You know me Amy, I like to keep you on your toes," Paul gives me a smirk and sits himself down on the other side of my desk, opening his folder and allowing a very serious look to come over his face as he thinks of how to start. "So I'm assuming you know what we want to talk to you about?"

I sit back in my chair and nod at him. "I didn't think you'd come down here though – I was expecting to be summoned up to Melbourne," my hands fidgeted annoyingly under my desk.

"We didn't want you to feel under pressure Detective," the hanger on added, speaking for Paul.

"Under pressure?" I nearly laughed. "With all due respect, anywhere we do this I'm going to feel under pressure," I look at them questioningly.

"Then let's move this into the interview room where we can have a bit more privacy shall we?" Paul suggested his eyes travelling to the rustle of my blinds where Kelly and Joss are playing the spies.

I roll my eyes, annoyed at their immaturity and lack of respect for my privacy. I push back my chair and motion with my hand to the door. "Let's not waste any time then," I walk towards the door, knowing they are getting up and following me, and suddenly my breathing becomes a little shallow as I think ahead to what line our conversation will follow once the interview starts. I've never been interviewed by internal affairs before – what will they ask? What dirt will they dig up? As I walk out into the main hub of the station I see Alex sitting at his desk and even though I have absolutely no right to, I shoot him a pleading look that begs him to rescue me. He shoots a sympathetic look back to me, but we don't have time to speak, as Paul Donald is already ahead of me and waiting with the interview room door open. I wouldn't have known what to say to Alex anyway. Damn.

I enter the interview room, feeling so strange because for once I won't be doing the questioning. Paul motions for me to sit opposite him and as I lower myself onto the chair I suddenly feel as though I _have done_ something wrong, even though I haven't. This is the criminals chair, and yet I am sitting in it. The room looks totally different from this angle – the tape recorder to my right and the security camera seeming as though it's zooming right in on my face. I place my arms, folded, on the table and look at Paul – might as well get started.

"This is just an informal chat Amy," he reassures me – underneath it all there really is a kind hearted, soft guy in Paul Donald. But I guess you'd never notice it until you were in a situation like this. "I'm not even going to turn on the recorder," he says it as if I'm going to thank him for not turning it on. "I just want to have a chat with you about Garth. We need to know some details."

I sit back, fold my arms and nod, waiting for him to begin the interrogation. No matter how informal this 'chat' is going to be, he'll still be asking me about Garth, the man who once meant so much to me, and possibly still does, who has just been killed.

"When did you meet Garth Amy?" the other one probes, beginning the interview.

I have to stretch my mind back for that one. When the hell did we meet? It comes to me after a few seconds of thinking. "Kings Cross, 1994."

"Were you working together then?" Paul asks.

"Yes and no. I was at a crisis centre in Kings Cross, he was at the station there. But we saw each other," why do they need to know this?

"And when did you become involved with him?" Paul looks pained as he says it.

"Involved?" I bite back. "Is that any of your business?" How did they know anyway? If it was PJ, I'll throttle him.

Paul senses my defensiveness. "We're not trying to make you uncomfortable Amy, but these questions need to be asked," he assures me. Somehow though, it doesn't settle my nerves. "We need to determine who Garth was outside of police work, and also exactly what he was like within police work. And we know you had a lot to do with that. Your answers could help us to determine how his death came about."

"I think we really need to turn on the recor-" the other one cuts in, but I interrupt him.

"How his death came about?" I whisper hoarsely, my blood beginning to boil. I lean into Paul across the table and look him straight in the eye. "What are you trying to say? That he threw himself in front of that car?"

Paul leans back in his chair, knowing I've cottoned onto his secret thoughts. "That's what you're here for Detective," God he can sound authoritive when he wants to! "Did he throw himself in front of that car? Or did he really just do what anyone would do and tried to save a child from certain danger? And who was in that car? Were they trying to run him down?"

I breathe a 'wow' – this is more complex than I had previously thought. Paul's right. What a tangled web this whole situation this has turned into – just like my bloody life. Suddenly the other one, who I've finally remembered is an old D from St Kilda named Daniel Martin, leans into the table with us, a very serious look on his face.

"We know Garth asked you to be apart of the cold case squad Amy," he seems to be almost delighting in revealing this piece of information. He raises an eyebrow at me, while Paul looks ready to slap him one for how blunt and inconsiderate he's being. If Paul is a softie, Daniel Martin is as hard as nails, and I better get used to it, because I can feel more questions coming my way. I can see him forming them in his eyes.

"He did," I nod, almost automatically. I raise my eyebrows back at him.

"And you obviously said no?" he asks stupidly.

"Would I be sitting here if I didn't?" the thickness of these guys! And they're supposed to be internal affairs!

"Maybe Garth really wanted you to come to Melbourne and work with him?" Daniel muses. "Maybe when you said no it changed him somehow," we are having a real face workout raising our eyebrows at each other now.

"Changed him?" I think I should know what he means, but I don't.

"As in he really wanted you to leave Mt Thomas and come back to Melbourne with him?" he nodded at me as though it was so obvious he couldn't believe I didn't get it.

"Garth and I are no longer, let me assure you," I reply. "Yes we were involved," I say the last word with unease. "Not that it's any of your business," I muster under my breath rolling my eyes to the ceiling in an attempt to show how pissed off I am. "But we broke up more than six years ago. It's ancient history." I finish so defiantly that I hope it will mean the end of our conversation. In fact, I am so determined to get out of the interview room, which is beginning to feel smaller and smaller as the minutes go by that I even push out my chair and begin to stand up, hoping the irritating screech of the wooden chair legs on the floor will annoy Daniel Martin.

"Sit down thanks detective," he demands, rising from his chair also to stare me down. Annoyed, I sit back in my chair and gather the strength to handle anything he dishes out. Paul has gone quiet, I can see he doesn't agree with Daniel's methods much, but for the meantime Daniel is holding all the cards. He even reaches over and turns on the tape recorder and with that action he puts on his official interview voice.

"Do you agree Detective Fox, that Garth Henderson was once involved with you on a personal level?" he asks, giving me the evil eye.

I roll my eyes and put on my own 'being interviewed' voice. "Yes that's right," I nod in disgust – not at the questions topic but at Daniel.

"And when did this involvement begin and end?" he knows he is pushing the limits.

"It began around the end of 1994 and ended approximately five years later," I admitted, not wanting to give away any more details than that.

"And do you agree that you shared similar pasts?" I saw Paul raise his eyebrows in surprise at that one.

"Similar pasts?" I asked innocently, hoping feverishly that he's not going to go where I think he's going.

"Yes," he nodded, narrowing his eyes at me. "Isn't it true you both had troubled childhoods?"

I relent, knowing anything I say will just be twisted anyway. "Yes, it's true, we both had…troubled childhoods," I admit, shuffling uncomfortably in my chair, eager even more now to get out of here. "But it has nothing to do with Garth or his police work. Or mine for that matter." I have always kept work away from personal life – sometimes not too successfully, but I have done it.

"Henderson's past indicates the opposite detective," he spits out accusingly. "Isn't it correct that you split up for the reasons already mentioned about your childhood?"

I exhale, trying to keep my anger inside. "Yes that's true – we were just too similar in that respect and it wasn't working," I am hating revealing such deep things to this loser.

"Then I put it to you that after your split, Henderson went on a downward slide, and to recover came to Mt Thomas and asked you to join him on the Cold Case Squad in Melbourne, hoping to rekindle your relationship," he probed.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Does he want me to explode! I lean in close, a threatening tone taking over my voice. "Garth was over me all right? It may not have seemed like that to you, but he was. And I was over him. We worked well together in Kings Cross and Melbourne, and when he was in Mt Thomas we did as well. And yes he wanted me to go to Melbourne with him, but as a colleague and nothing more. When PJ agreed to take the position he was pleased to have him on board. He just wanted a competent, reliable detective as part of the team. He didn't come here to woo me and try to make me fall in love with him again," I answer. This is unbearable.

Daniel sits back in his chair and folds his arm across his chest, a satisfied look on his face. He knows he's got under my skin and he seems pleased with himself – why you little…

"Witnesses at the scene tell a very different story Amy," Paul adds. I look at him, horror in my eyes.

"Who? Jackie Wyllie? I doubt she saw anything but her little girl being hit," I scoff at Paul's suggestion, again beginning to lose my patience.

Paul can sympathise. But Daniel cuts him off before he can even say another word. "Eye witness accounts tell us that Garth threw himself in front of the car, and Bella Wyllie just happened to be in danger at the time. If his sole intention had been to save her, she would still be alive today, not buried in the ground," Daniel stood up, his hands on the table and he leant menacingly over me and for the first time I noticed how bad his skin was, even at 45.

But I've had enough of this. For the first time I show real weakness and tears come to my eyes, but I angrily hold them back as the rage spills out of my mouth. I push out my chair quickly and don't even have a second to take a deep breath. "Garth was NOT unstable! He was a strong guy – if anything pushed him down he was always able to stand right back up again," I storm towards the door, knocking a stack of cassette's off the side table as I do so, sending them clattering to the floor. "I loved him, right up until the day he died, but we could live without each other – it was how we had to lead our lives. How dare you tarnish his good name by suggesting he was suicidal!" I reach the door and yank at the handle aggressively. "He deserved a better life, and he knew it, but he _never_ let it drag him down," and with that I stride angrily out the door, slamming it amazingly hard behind me. I slammed it so hard I think I pulled a muscle in my shoulder and I rub it as I stalk back down the hallway the tears welling over my cheeks and onto the sleeve of my jacket. My headache is now a hundred times worse and I gulp in uneven gasps of air as I rush down the hallway. I push desperately against the door at the end and then run the few paces to the women's toilets. Leaning heavily against the door, it's always been a bugger to open, it's such an annoyance when you're busting, and fall into the tiny tiled bathroom. I launch myself into a stall, my back against the cool wall and I stand there for a second, struggling to breathe. The whole interview plays back at hyper speed in my head and I put my face in my hands and sink to my feet, allowing the tears to fall through my fingers and onto my knees. I can't help but scream and cry again, just like I did in the mess room yesterday. Only this time I don't have Alex's shoulder to be my tissue, and it hurts all the more because of it.

Between gasps and cries I can here a pair of boots running down the hallway outside. They are getting closer and closer and for a moment I cock my head in the direction of the sound, distracted from my crying fit for a second. The door squeaks open and I see a pair of boots through the crack in the door. The boots come right up to my closed stall door and a hand knocks lightly on the wooden door with the peeling white paint.

"Amy?" Susie calls out quietly. I sit rooted to the spot, not wanting to reveal myself to anyone right now. I wrap my arms around my stomach, changing my loud sobs to silent ones, hoping she will go away. "Please come out Amy," she says, still right on the other side of the door, so uncomfortably close. "Don't be afraid," I can picture her listening for any noise I might make.

I lift my head and stare at the back of the door, wondering if I really should get up. I decide to bite the bullet – Susie, and everyone here, needs to see the other side of me sometime, or else they're all going to think I live and breathe my job and nothing else, and get up to unlock the stall door. I open it, inch by inch, peeking out like a scared child to see Susie leaning against the wall, a concerned look framing her pretty features. She smiles and tries to look into my eyes, but I keep them glued to the floor. She reaches out and takes my hand to lead me out of the stall slowly. "It's ok to cry Amy," she soothes. I remember suddenly that Susie lost her husband not long ago, and she probably knows how I feel quite closely.

I'm still defiant though. Amy Fox isn't meant to cry, and yet it's all I seem to be doing these days. I let go of Susie's hand and reach over to grab a tissue from beside the basin to wipe my eyes, taking deep breaths as I do so. I stare at myself in the mirror and wish it were Alex standing behind me, patting me on the shoulder.

I've decided to leave work early today. I pack things into my briefcase, absently stuffing in random reports to do, even though I've not done much proper work for days and days now, and so if I were to open these files at home I wouldn't even know where to start. But it feels better than leaving the station empty handed. If I left empty handed then everyone else would really think I was losing my marbles, and we can't have that, no matter how much I really am.

As I push open the door at the back entrance I shield my eyes from the early afternoon sun. One arm around my bulging briefcase and one arm shielding my puffy eyes, I bump into Alex before I see him. The briefcase tumbles to the ground and my papers spew everywhere. Thankyou weather gods for making it not very windy today…he's bending down to help pick them up and to stop myself feeling totally pathetic, I bend down and start to gather them up with him.

"They've gone Amy," he says, meeting my eyes. "Paul and Daniel have gone back to Melbourne."

I exhale quickly, still gathering my files and shoving them back into my briefcase. "Are you sure?" I ask tentatively.

"Yeah," Alex nods. "Daniel told me himself."

We finish collecting all the stray papers and come back up to standing at the same time, our eyes still glued to one another. God he still takes my breath away. "Just as well," I joke. "I've got a killer headache."

He grins and steps just a little bit closer. Again that heat springs up and I fumble with embarrassment, trying to get a proper grip on my briefcase. I'm still unable to tear my eyes away from his though and just as suddenly as I bumped into him, he presses his lips onto mine, just as passionately as he did the last time. I smile as he pulls away, a relaxed smile, a happy smile, a warm smile. He seems to be able to change my mood instantly like that. Why he keeps trying I'll never know.

"What was that for?" I whisper, feeling shy. "Don't you hate me after yesterday?" I say, full of shame.

He gives me the most idiotic look, as if to say 'you really are stupid Amy Fox'. I can feel my face growing hot. He just rolls his eyes at me and gives me a kiss on the cheek before he heads back inside the station, his tea break over.

I walk away, my feet barely touching the ground in an amazing new feeling. I drive home in silence, the radio playing only softly in the background. I hurl my self and my briefcase up the stairs and into my flat before deciding I need to get a grip and start living life again. I jog through the few rooms in my flat, opening windows and curtains, letting the fresh air breeze in and throwing out the old dead flowers from 3 weeks ago that sit in a vase on my kitchen counter. I do the breakfast dishes and then change my clothes before settling into bed with a cup of coffee, two Panadols and today's paper.

Before I know it, it's 6pm and the sun is starting to go down. I flick on the news and watch for a while, but find myself thinking of Alex and how he would be ending his shift right about now. I lie back against the pillows and picture him walking out of the station, pulling on his jacket, digging for his car keys in his pocket and then climbing into his car. Part of me wishes he would drive straight over here, but the other half of me knows I shouldn't think like that. After all, I still feel bad about being so gutless last night, despite him not seeming to be too worried about it. I still feel bad. I don't deserve the pleasure of his company tonight – not after last night. I turn off the news and roll over, burrowing under the covers to avoid the cold night air that's beginning to blanket Mt Thomas. I turn off the lamp beside my bed, and just lie here in the dark, huddled deep in the sheets and blankets. I listen to my own rhythmical breathing and stare at the doors to my wardrobe that lie directly in my line of vision. As I keep staring though, my eyelids begin to feel heavy and soon I am on the verge of sleep.

Ahhhh…..bugger me…what is the time? I scrunch my eyes up as I shuffle into a sitting position in bed. I look at the red glowing numbers on my bedside alarm clock and they read 7:30pm – only 7:30! Wow I feel like I've been asleep for hours. A little bit goes a long way I guess. What woke me? I shake my head, seeing if my headache has disappeared and to my disgust it hasn't. I sit up for a few moments longer, listening for any sounds in my flat. Hmm nothing. Time for some more sleep then…

I woke up fresh and alive this morning, and it feels good to drive to the station with the window down. I park, gather my briefcase from the backseat, my commuter coffee mug from the cup holder and roll up the window. I walk briskly into the station, ready to begin a new day, and forget that internal affairs were ever here. I greet the few people that are in the office at this time of the morning and they all look surprised that I've even spoken. I guess I don't always say good morning – Jesus, how rude of me. Wait…they look not just surprised, but also…apprehensive? I give Susie a funny look and she rises from her seat to walk over to me where I have stopped outside the door to my office. She looks like she's about to break some really bad news. I know, I've seen that look before in this job.

"Amy," she says, leaning in close to me. "Have you seen Alex yet this morning?" she reaches down to grab my briefcase for me, still staring me intently in the eye.

I cock my head and answer. "Nooooo," I reply. "Why?" I ask suspiciously.

"He's ahh…not in a very good….way," she replies, looking as if she's regretting saying every word. My heart skips a beat as I look wildly around the room, trying to find him.

"Where is he?" I screech quietly, almost hissing I'm so panicked. She hasn't even said why he's not in a very good way, but some part of me assumes the worst anyway.

"Amy," she says, setting my briefcase down on the floor at my feet. "He's in the mess room. But I don't know if he'll want you to see him," she gestures in the direction. Screw that, my head says. I leave Susie standing there and make it into the mess room in a matter of seconds.

Alex is leaning against the counter, his head down, his eyes closed. Even from the door I can see the huge shiner on his cheek. His jacket is still on, even though the heating is going full bore in here and so really there is no need for jackets. I inch closer, my heart in my throat, scared of what I might see.

"Alex?" I whisper as I reach his side, touching his hand lightly. He looks up and over at me, a pained look on his face. I notice that that shiner isn't the only bruise on his face. One has come up nice and dark near his left ear as well. I can't help but gasp.

"Don't worry about me Amy, I'm ok," he says, before I can even get a word in. It's almost like he's brushing me off, but I try to forget that – Alex would never do that.

"What happened?" I'm still in shock and so still whispering.

"When I got home last night, they were waiting," he sounds defenceless as he describes for me what happened. "At my own bloody house, I can't believe it," he shakes his head with annoyance and pushes himself off from the counter to go and raid the fridge.

"Who was it?" I whisper, knowing I should've figured it out by now.

"Oh who do you think Amy!" he yells. "It was some of Daniel Martin's cronies!"

"What?" I ask disbelievingly.

"When you didn't tell them what they wanted to know yesterday they weren't happy," he looks at me square in the eye, as if to check I actually am taking all this in. "They'd never beat you up, but they had no problem doing it to me," he shakes his head and walks over to me. "But don't worry," he says more softly. "They've done it now, they've got their way, they've beaten me to a pulp, it's over," he spins on his heel and walks out of the mess room, nursing with his hands what I suppose are sore ribs. I drop into a chair, my head spinning. How could I have let this happen? How could Daniel Martin have resorted to this? How could he have hurt the man I lo- how could he have hurt Alex?

Determined and madder than ever, I storm out of the mess room and into the muster area. Everyone looks up as I make my entrance, including Alex, who is now behind his desk. Even the Boss opens his office door to see what I have to say.

"There's a rat in the ranks," I announce angrily.

"Excuse me?" the Boss asks.

"Look at what they've done to Alex Boss!" I yelp, pointing at Alex's battered body that sits slumped behind the desk. He looks up expectantly, to see what the Boss's reaction will be. Tom looks over at Alex, and frowns as he takes in Alex's cuts and bruises.

"Can I have a word detective?" he asks sombrely before heading back into his office. I follow and close the door behind me, the anger still bubbling deep inside. He looks up at me from behind his glasses. "Am I to take it you think one of us did this?" he asks me bluntly.

"Not one of us, one of _them_," I exaggerate the 'them' to get him to understand.

"You mean the toe cutters?" he can't help but seem a little surprised.

"Of course I mean them Boss! You didn't hear them yesterday," I shake my head at him.

"For as long as I've known Paul Donald…" he begins.

"No not Paul!" I interrupt. "Paul still has a heart of gold," I roll my eyes at the thought. "Daniel Martin," I spit out his name with disgust.

"Martin?" the Boss seems hesitant, but is willing to trust my judgement. "Where's the interview tape? Let me hear it so that I can make up my own mind."

"He took it with him," I reply. "Of course," my eyes roll in annoyance. "So you can't listen to it. He's good at covering his tracks."

"Well we can't just let this roll," he says, determination in his voice as he sits up straighter. "I'll get that interview tape. And meanwhile, you - don't do anything stupid Amy," he shuffles in his seat, indicating it's time I left. I open the door, sending the blinds swaying against the glass panel.

Out in the office I see Alex is nowhere to be seen. My head starts to hurt again. I head to my office, picking up my briefcase from where I had left it earlier and opening the door quickly, eager to get into my own space where I can work this mess out. But Alex is sitting at my desk, spinning around in the chair.

"What are you thinking Amy?" he asks, raising his eyebrows at me knowingly.

"I'm thinking that I am going to get the person who did this," I confide. "And to do that you need to get out of my chair," I say with a laugh, kicking at his boots with my own, trying to get him to move. He grins, relents and gets up, albeit painfully, and hobbles over to the other side of the desk where there is another chair, last occupied by Paul Donald.

Alex puts his elbows on my desk and looks at me with a worried expression, only added to by his bruises and battle scars. I think for a moment as I look at him – he's copped all this for me. When did I ever deserve someone like that? No one has ever gone that far for me before…am I even worth being bashed up for? I don't know, but meanwhile, it feels good to be taken under someone's wing and be protected. Still, I feel so horridly guilty that this had to happen to Alex.

"But where will you even start Amy?" he shakes his head, disbelieving that anything can be done to rectify the situation. Well…the mess. I sit down and settle back into my chair looking back at him, feeling that teamwork spirit popping up to guide us. Two heads are always better than one – more than anything else, police work has taught me that.

"Well we need to look at the root of this problem. The foundation. Where did it all start?" Alex looks back at me, obviously a bit dazed as I was expecting him to tell me the answer straight away. I roll my eyes, chuckling. "Daniel Martin of course!" I lean in closer so I am infinitely close, so close I can feel his breath on my face. "Are you with me?" I raise my eyebrows at him, a smile on my face.

Suddenly a devious and driven look takes over his eyes. He wants it. He's ready. He's going to fight back. He's with me. Without another word we get up, gather our jackets and junk and head outside to the CI car. As we climb in I'm reminded of the hundreds of times I hopped into this car to solve a mystery with PJ. We were a great team and I miss him. There'll always only be one PJ. But something inside tells me, as we both slip effortlessly into the gleaming silver vehicle, that Alex and I can be just as good. I jiggle the keys in the ignition and we zoom out of the car park. I love police vehicles – they always have lots of power and lots of speed. It makes you feel important. I settle back in the seat as I drive towards town.

As we patrol the streets I turn to Alex. "Do you think he really went back to Melbourne?" I ask.

Alex considers for a moment before answering my difficult question. "I guess he could be still here. But then I can see him being totally gutless and just leaving Mt Thomas and going back to Melbourne, leaving his cronies to do his dirty work for him. He wouldn't stick around," I nod in agreement.

"Let's follow him then," I say. "Hopefully he isn't a workaholic and so we won't spend the whole day watching the station to see if he comes out," I hope feverishly that he is a normal person. But then…internal affairs…you can never be sure. I drive on anyway.

Not long after we are parked opposite the station I know Daniel Martin operates from. It's a big station, a real hive of activity and as we sit and watch people and cops stream in and out like it's the end of the world. I suck some more Boost Juice up my straw, trying to get the last dregs up. The sun is streaming into the car, warming my legs, and my woollen pants are beginning to itch.

"What are we going to do when we see him?" Alex asks suddenly. Looks like I'm going to be doing all the thinking today – never mind though, he's been through enough.

I shrug my shoulders back at him. I don't really have a plan, which can get me worried sometimes, but really, I'm not too concerned today. As I've said before, police work is moment by moment, second by second. Sometimes the only good ideas come to you at the very last second. It's the danger that pumps you up. Sure, you can fail horribly, but you can also get what you wanted to achieve. Hopefully that'll happen today for Alex and I. When the time comes, I know one of us will think of something.

It's not till just after 3pm that he finally emerges, looking more and more like Bargearse everyday. Too much take away food on the run I guess. But then we can all be like that. The life of a cop – no routine whatsoever. He shuffles out of the stations big front entrance, trying to look cool wearing his aviators and with his jacket slung over his shoulder. PJ told me once that once upon a time the Boss used to wear sunglasses like that. The thought of it just cracks me up – Tom Croydon in aviators? The mind boggles. But it's good to have a laugh every now and then.

Daniel Martin saunters down the front steps of the station cool as can be, and it brings an angry feeling into my stomach that stirs up my emotions so much I want to spit on him. I can't believe he would be so low and want to get his way so much that he would do something as wrong as beat up a member of the same force he himself belongs to. "Look at him," I hiss angrily. "How dare he even walk down the street feeling good," my voice is hoarse and quiet, and so angry that Alex looks over at me with surprise. I guess I've never spoken like this about anyone before, but I feel this situation merits me being angry.

Alex and I watch him as he saunters down the street and walks into a lunch bar. I can see him through the lunch bar window, gruffly ordering a coffee. He stands and watches impatiently as the man behind the counter froths the milk and brews the coffee. Daniel stands there, tapping his foot, his arms crossed in front of his chest and an irritated look on his face. When the coffee is made he snatches it from the mans hand and storms out of the tiny establishment. I see the guy behind the counter roll his eyes and angrily flick aside the plastic strips that hang from the door way to the back of the lunch bar. Daniel Martin can put anyone in a bad mood.

He trundles down the street, back in the direction of the station before walking to the back car park and zooming out of the compound in a car that resembles our CI car quite extraordinarily. As I see him exit the car park I turn the keys in the ignition and manoeuvre the car around to creep along behind him. Perhaps unluckily for us, there are next to no cars on the street right now and we end up a lot closer to Daniel's car than I had intended. Alex whispers to me as we both keep our eyes glued on the car in front of us.

"Don't get too close," he whispers quickly, maybe finally getting his police mind back into gear. I nod grimly in response; all my attention is focussed on the road. We follow him for ages, if I didn't know any better I would think he was leading us on a wild goose chase, but surprisingly he hasn't even noticed we are following him. Pretty bad actually – as a cop he should've noticed us by now, he should have a sixth sense and know that someone's following him, but he seems too preoccupied with changing the radio stations.

We finally turn into a street lined with shady gums and manicured lawns. I park a little ways down from the house he has turned into and we settle in for a sit. The towering gums shade the car, protecting us from the sunshine that seems to be blazing this afternoon. I shuffle in my seat, bored and uncomfortable after just five minutes. I hang out the window, scared for a moment that I might be being too obvious, but there is no movement from the house, so I don't reckon anyone is going to see me. I cran my neck out and suddenly I can see right into the living room window, just as a small girl, no more than 12 years old, walks into the room and sits down at a grand piano that sits silently by the window, its gleaming black top catching the suns rays and shining brilliantly. It even pierces my eyesight for a second – even from this distance – until I shuffle forward some more. I can see the girl clearly now – she is gorgeous. She sits straight on the piano stool, perfect posture, and I watch her fingers glide effortlessly across the keys. She is playing Somewhere over the Rainbow. That used to be my favourite song when my parents were still alive, and when I lost them, I used to sing it to myself when I was feeling sad. And now sitting here in the car, a tear comes to my eye as I listen to her play.

I can feel myself getting a bit lost in the music – it really takes me back, not just to when my parents were alive, but to anytime I was happy – with my parents, with Garth, with my friends. It all feels like an eternity ago now, something I've done and now dusted my hands of. A strong sadness fills my stomach and makes it lurch painfully – so much so that I grip it on top of my jacket for a quick moment. A moment Alex doesn't notice. Good.

She plays steadily for half an hour and is the only movement in the house that Alex and I can see. This is so boring that I want to just close my eyes and fall asleep in the sunshine, but something is keeping my eyes wide open. I don't know what it is – the hunger to catch Daniel Martin, the thrill of the chase, the revengeful anger that burns inside me for Alex. Suddenly a flicker of movement catches my eye and I hang out the window even more, my eyes scouring the monstrous house and its surrounds for the sign of life. Finally I see what it is – Martin himself, slipping stealthily into his blue Holden and backing out of the driveway, his daughter in the back seat, her hair in a ponytail and a bag beside her. At first glance I'd say she's off to dance class. I watch them reverse out of the drive way and Martin zoom off, his tyres squealing in his wake. He is down the street and around the corner before either of us even move.

I turn to Alex, disappointment on my face. "What are we going to do now?" I ask, racking my brain for ideas.

"I don't know," he shrugged back at me in reply. "I thought you said you had a plan?" he eases uncomfortably in his seat.

"I never said that," I begin to answer before stopping myself. In my head I had always just thought something would come to me, as it always has in the past, and therefore my 'plan' was under construction as we went along. But now, sitting in the car in an upper class suburb or Melbourne I've got no bloody idea what to do.

"Excuse me," I nearly wet myself from the surprise. A warm smiling face is at my window, saving me for a short second from looking completely idealess. She's tall and beautiful, with blonde shoulder length hair and sparkly blue eyes – the adult version of the girl I had observed playing Somewhere Over the Rainbow. "Can I help you?"

Again though, I am stumped. We can't tell her what we're really here for. Luckily, we don't have to. "Were you watching for Daniel?" she asks.

Alex and I both stumble in our replies, not wanting our covers to be blown. "It's ok," she reassures us. "What has he done now?"

Again, what the hell can we say? I sit there, feeling my cheeks grow hot and my brain working overtime trying to think of the right excuse. Something finally comes to me just as she straightens back up and shields her eyes from the sun as she speaks to us. "Do you want to come inside? We can discuss it there," she is still smiling, and I'm getting the feeling she might already know why we're here.

I look over and Alex and we shrug our shoulders at each other. "We have nothing to lose," Alex says quietly. I nod and together we climb out of the car and follow Daniel's wife across the road and onto their front lawn.

Inside, the house is ornate - clean and polished, spick and span and everything I always imagined Daniel Martin to be. Obsessive, possessive, strong and powerful. His wife, who introduced herself as Chelle as we walked through the front door, leads us into the sitting room where the grand piano lies. It's a huge room, filled with side tables and paintings, a mirror and delicate looking vases, and a two seater lounge and three individual armchairs all covered in an impeccably white material with a floral design imprinted in. As I sit down I'm surprised the little girl was allowed in here at all.

"Are you police officers?" she asks. Why she had to ask is beyond me, as Alex IS in uniform, but I am not, so I suppose it is sort of a fair question. I suppose she wants to make it clear in her own mind. I would be the same if it were me.

We nod in response to her question and I awkwardly sip my cup of tea. Alex and I are silent, as if we're the criminals and we're being questioned. And I am dreading her asking the big one. So I must cut in before she has the chance.

"It sounds like this has happened before Chelle," I comment lightly.

Chelle leans back in her chair and stares out the window for a moment before nodding. "As Daniel's wife, I shouldn't ever invite people like you in, but I am so used to everyone else being against him or angry at him, that I figure the more people I have on my side the better."

Alex leans forward and places his cup carefully on the coaster on the glass top coffee table. "Tell us about your husband," Alex asks eagerly. Chelle doesn't seem fazed by the question as I study her reaction. She's confident in how she speaks and presents herself and maybe knows deep down that her husband is not exactly on the straight and narrow and speaking out about it is for the better.

"My husband is a hard man," she begins, a wistful look almost in her eyes. They wander to a photograph mounted on the wall above the fireplace from their wedding day. Even then, Daniel Martin has a steely gaze and a cold expression, and Chelle notes this with her eyes rather sadly. "He likes to have the best of everything and everything at its best. It's probably why he is in the job he's in," she sips from her cup again, swallowing thoughtfully. "Even our daughter must be the best," she whispers.

"I'm sorry?" I want to hear more.

"Our daughter, Nadia, does gymnastics," Chelle explains, gesturing to a photograph on the side table I had failed to notice of the girl in mid flight on the beam. "Daniel wants her to be an elite gymnast, to make the Olympics one day. She trains hard for an eleven year old, and I don't think it's good for her, especially when she learns piano and takes dance as well, on top of her school work. But to Daniel she will be nothing but the best, and if so many hours of training are what it takes to get her there, then so be it."

"Was she named after…?" I ask, remembering back to the days when I was little and I idolised Nadia Comaneci when she scored a perfect 10 in Montreal.

Chelle nods her head strongly. "Of course," she replies. "From the moment she was born Daniel had hard and fast plans for her. She is going to be the Nadia of today in his eyes. He'd send her to Romania if he could, but that's where I put my foot down."

I nod, my mind ticking over at an alarming rate. I'm beginning to see who the real Daniel Martin is, even more than what I know from work. I turn to Alex and see the same expression on his face that I know is on mine. There's something inside Daniel Martin that makes him want an answer to everything and an instant culprit to every crime. I was the culprit – the one he targeted – when unearthing information about Garth's past.

Despite being welcomed into his home and warmly given a cup of tea and a biscuit from his wife, I still cannot see a good side to Daniel Martin as I sit here. He is the one that did this to my Alex and something has to be done. But as I sit here, the tea warming my insides as it slips down, I am stumped as to what to do. Usually I can always find an answer, and it is, I suppose, what has flown me up the ranks of promotion over the years, but right now, I don't know what to do. And I need to, otherwise Daniel Martin is going to get away with this and that's not right.

We are silent for a few moments before Chelle leans forward and puts her cup down staring intently at Alex. It is such an intense stare that he blushes and pulls insecurely at the bottom of his jacket before she speaks. "Did Daniel do that to you?" she whispers, her voice scared and small, as if anticipating the answer and being afraid to hear it.

I cut in before Alex can answer her. "That's what we're here to find out Chelle," I say softly, knowing she has nothing to do with Daniel's horrid ways and I shouldn't use my hard police approach on her. "We think he got someone he knows to do it for him," I supply. "God knows he'd know the right people – he's in internal affairs after all."

Chelle nodded. I could see it in her eyes that she knew the extremeness of this situation, and that she knew her husband had done something wrong. Something in her eyes told me she was expecting to hear what we had to say though. "Why do I get the feeling this is nothing new?"

Chelle sighed, stubbing the toes of her shoes into the carpet, not seeming to care that it left slight brown marks on the otherwise pristine floor covering. "You wouldn't believe how many people like you've I've met who've told me that Daniel has done this and Daniel has done that," she looks forlornly into my eyes. "He never changes," she says, shaking her head in disappointment. "He's always going after the one person he thinks did it, never letting up, even if they didn't do it."

I sit here and listen as Chelle continues to tell us the inner workings of her husband and it occurs to me that it isn't going to be easy to stop him in his tracks. I signal to Alex with my eyes that it is time we got going, and thankfully he understands instantly. It is a bit of pressure off the team work thing – if he can understand what I mean just by reading the look on my face or in my eyes, we are off to a good start. And I thought only PJ could read my mind!

I get up out of my seat, being careful not to knock over my cup of tea that sits scarily close to the edge of the coffee table. Chelle notices my movement and goes to stand up herself, before stopping and perching on the very edge of the seat. "What will happen to Daniel?"

"We can't answer that," Alex and I say in perfect unison. We can do nothing but give her a sympathetic look and walk out the way we came in. Chelle stays behind in the sitting room, staring at the framed photograph of her daughter on the side table.

Just fifteen minutes later Alex and I are at the station we first spotted Martin at, earlier this afternoon. I walk confidently up the steps, not feeling at all confident inside and hoping that Alex is following me not too far behind. As I push open the heavy glass door at the entrance I can feel my palms sweating. This is one of those moments where I really am playing it moment by moment. I wasn't even sure I should push open the door half a second ago, but now I have and I'm inside.

This station is a big one and Alex and I walk half way down a wide hallway that has a lot of windows – all the more to see you with I guess – before we bump directly into Paul Donald. He seems surprised, but has that knowing smile on his face – the one that just seems to know what you're going to ask him even before you ask him. He walks ahead of me after greeting us both and his stance just seems to say 'hurry up.' Alex and I jog behind him, feeling like new recruits fresh out of the academy sticking like glue to the higher ranked officers. We stand uselessly at the door to a small kitchen come locker room less than a minute later as he makes himself a coffee at the counter that's littered with used coffee mugs and teaspoons sticky with sickly sugar remains.

Alex prods me in the hip all of a sudden and his eyes suggest that we sit down and wait for Paul to join us. I pad over to the steel table and wait anxiously with my hands laced in front of me, holding back the habit of tapping my nails on the surface in front of me. Paul joins us, sitting himself down in the wooden chair and leans back in it, sipping at his freshly made coffee, his brow furrowed and a very serious look on his face. It is not until he leans forward though and looks us in the eye that I can see the look of seriousness is even greater in his dark eyes than it is on his face.

"Martin did that to you didn't he?" he says in a low voice, only loud enough for us alone to hear. He points with his cup to the sorry state of Alex's face and torso. Alex shrugs in reply, becoming shy all of a sudden. As I look at him sadly I feel it's time to cut in.

"We've got to get him Paul," I whisper hoarsely, the anger from earlier creeping back into my voice. "It isn't right what he's doing," my hands are sweating even more now, but no longer out of anxiety or nervousness. It's out of pure, unadulterated drive.

"I've known Daniel for a long time Amy," he begins, and to me it sounds like he's about to defend this man, but I'm wrong. "And since the first day I met him he's always not quite sat right with me," he sets his mug down on the table and folds his arms in front of him, shaking his head as he does so. "He is always hell bent on getting convictions and anything else he thinks he needs."

The light shines into the situation at last! Someone else who thinks along my wavelength! I lean in to look Paul in the eye this time, ready to admit the weak spot in my plan. "We don't know how to get him though Paul," I admit, moving my gaze down to my hands.

"Well, you know," Paul smiles that knowing smile again, even in this doozy of situations. "I've always found a good person to turn to in situations like these is none other than the man himself," he winks at me and I immediately know who he means. Of course. The Boss can make any problem seem solvable. Suddenly I feel refreshed and energised, and while I still am without a plan I feel newly confident. Out of excitement I find Alex's hand under the table and squeeze it, pleasantly surprising him. He gives me a wide eyed look, but it curls into a smile almost instantly. Teamwork.

Paul knows that I've caught onto what he's thinking and he gets up, letting out a small sigh. "I've got heaps of work to do, but I'll be hearing from you yeah?" he asks me.

I nod. "Hopefully," I reply, praying to God this all works out.

Back at the station just before sunset Alex and I troop into the muster area and head straight for the Boss's office. Knocking on the door I draw a deep breath, a little nervous about what we may talk about. Nevertheless the Boss summons us in and invites us to sit down straight away. He seems to be able to read my mind.

"Well, I listened to the interview tape," he announced, looking down at us from his glasses, his arms folded in front of him.

"And?" I pressed, leaning forward in my seat, eager to hear his answer.

"You were right Amy," he said, sounding troubled and bothered by the fact we would be getting a lot more paperwork very very soon. Oh…and catching a wrong doer.

Alex's face mirrored his which also mirrored mine. I reckon we all know we're in for some serious stuff, but sometimes you just feel so clueless. "Where did you go today?" the Boss asks, his brow still furrowed. He pushes his fingers into his eyes in a tired, end of the day gesture and it makes me want to do the same.

"We followed Martin from the station to his house," I reply. "Saw his daughter, met his wife, had a cup of tea with her, found out some dark secrets and came back."

"You had a cup of tea with his wife!" Tom can't help but chuckle, and it takes a lot of energy for me to suppress my giggles too. When you think of Daniel Martin, you don't think of a cup of tea. I guess it just proves how drastically different he and his wife are – how drastically different he is from everybody. As the crims always like to put it, they're innocent until proven guilty, and us cops follow that line too – pretty much. If the evidence points the finger at them, then they're guilty. But we do give them a chance first. For me it's the thought of ruining someone's life by sending them to jail for the rest of their days for something they didn't do. I couldn't live with myself if I did that to someone. So even the lowest of people I give a chance to. It may not seem like it at times, but I do. And that's the difference between myself and Daniel, and between everybody else and Daniel. He doesn't give anyone a chance.

"Yeah," I reply, nodding my head in earnest and leaning forward to divulge the information to Tom, who I know, despite his tiredness, is eager to hear. "And he's a psycho Boss," I emphasise all my words to get my point across. "Even his daughter suffers! She trains insane hours every week at gymnastics, just because he wants her to be the next Olympic champion."

"And just because he has goals for his daughter you've decided he needs to be put away?" Tom asks, staring down his nose at me. I shrug back at him, feeling a bit stupid, as it really doesn't prove a lot. Still, I hold onto it in the back of my mind because I know it's one more brick in the path, and right now, I need every brick I can get.

I suddenly notice that outside it is growing dark. Even through the dirty windows of our station I can see the stars starting to sparkle and my eyes are beginning to adjust to the unnatural light from the overhead lamp the Boss has on his desk. Tom notices too, and his gaze drifts and follows mine as I stare out the window at the night sky. He sighs and begins to shove his reports and other paperwork into his drawers, as we all do at the end of the day.

"Tomorrow," he states. "Tomorrow we will put our heads down and sort out this mess," he eases himself up from his chair and stands up, gesturing to us with his hands as he speaks, a trait of his I never tire of. "Get home, get some sleep, and come back to me ready to go tomorrow ok?" he smiles a tired, worn out smile right at me. It reassures me a little and I get up, say good night and exit the office, suddenly more tired than I have ever been before.

I drag my feet into the mess room, gather a few possessions from my locker, drag my feet back to my office, pick up more crap, and head out back to where I parked my car. Alex is dragging his feet along beside me, sounding, by the scrapes of his shoes on the gravel, like he is as tired as I am. I glance over at him, even that movement taking a mammoth amount of effort I just don't seem to have Despite the Boss's reassurances, I still feel a bit helpless. Alex looks dishevelled and in pain and I notice for the first time that he winces quietly with every step he takes. My chest hurts as I see him in just that little bit of agony – all because of me. I walk around to the passenger side of my car, and open the door for him, offering him the seat inside. He smiles a little and folds his body into the seat and I shut the door gently behind him. I walk around, throw my junk in the back seat, with no intention at all of getting it again until the next day, and bend my own body wearily into the drivers seat.

I drive slowly to my flat, and we walk inside. It's not been that long since the last disastrous encounter between Alex and I here, and I draw in a nervous breath as I unlock the door. We are both too tired to make amends though. At least for now. I wander to the fridge, knowing its contents will be pretty minimal, but hoping for something edible all the same. Inside I find some relatively new camembert and some water crackers on the bench beside the fridge. Not great, but it's a better effort than none at all. I pile it onto a plate and bring it over to where Alex sits on my couch – eyes closed, head back, body limp. I smile sadly to myself – the poor thing. I plonk myself down beside him and put the plate on the table, leaning back into the cushions with him.

"We're going to get him, aren't we?" I ask him sincerely, wanting an answer that will reassure me for good.

Alex shrugs his shoulders, as if he can't answer my question, but then sits up and turns to face me. "Of course we are Amy," he whispers. "Have some faith," he reaches over and squeezes my hand, smiling at me.

I sigh, a lump suddenly rising in my throat. Sometimes it's all just so hard. "I'm just about out of that," I whisper sadly.

I'm all out of faith

This is how I feel

I'm cold and I am shamed

Bound and broken on the floor

I look at him, my limbs quivering with sadness and fear. Sadness that I'll never be the same again, and fear because I fear we'll never catch Daniel Martin. I suppose too, a little fear that I've changed. Changed since I split with Garth, changed since I moved to Mt Thomas, changed since I met Alex, changed since Garth was killed, changed since Alex and I got so close. I just don't know what's going to happen, and I'm the sort of person who likes to know what exactly is going to happen next.

"Amy," he squeezes my hand more, and shuffles a bit closer, and not for the first time do I feel like an invalid – someone he has to care for and look after. "No matter what, you've got to have faith. You've got to be prepared to risk it all, and maybe not know what's going to happen."

He's read my thoughts so well – how does he do that! He leans into kiss me softly and the taste of his kiss makes me smile and the lump in my throat go down. I don't know why I'm letting him do this to me. Amy Fox would never have allowed this just 2 weeks ago, but Alex…oh Alex. He's got a hold of me somehow! Something about him, I don't know, I can't explain it, and even if I could I'd sound like a soap actress. But am I letting him because I want it or am I letting him for some other reason? Buggered if I know, and it holds me back a little there on the couch.

"Amy," he settles back on the cushions and pulls me to him so that I am cradled by his underarm, his arm around my shoulders. I relax a little and as suddenly as it came before, I feel the fire returning in my belly. I don't know what it is about Alex that makes it return time and time again, but its back right now. He runs his finger down my jaw line as we sit there, the light growing dimmer and dimmer as night settles in. It's mesmerising, so much so that when he goes to kiss me again, I meet his lips halfway. Soon we are locked in a passionate huddle and I continue to tremble every time he touches me. It's like he can pull out the inner Amy, someone who's usually locked away, never to be revealed. And the inner Amy is unscarred, undeterred by anything and will let someone like Alex Kirby seduce her. But at the same time the usual Amy is still a little frightened and has her mind on other things.

Sometimes though, like right now, the inner Amy is winning out and I can feel myself giving myself up more and more with every passing second. It's extraordinary, and even a little funny, because this is a me who no one would ever expect – it's something I would never do, something all my colleagues probably think I am totally incapable of. But Alex – Alex can pry it out of me. And it makes me see that he wants me. It's actually sort of nice to know, as naughty as it sounds, that he does want me. Somebody wants me. Me. Never thought I'd see the day. Never thought I'd see the day when I wanted someone just as much too. I grab for his lips once more.

But suddenly he pulls away, gently easing my body away from his as we continue to sit on the couch. I blink, a little breathless, and look at him questioningly.

"I just need to know Amy before…anything else happens," he states, clearly yearning for an answer.

"What?" his question, as unrevealing as it is, scares me a little.

"Am I…" he doesn't know how to say it. I can almost hear the cogs turning over in his brain, trying to word it right. I lean in closer, trying to prompt the words out of him, even though I'm not sure I want to hear them. He gets flustered, but still says it with strength. "Are you just letting me kiss you, and inviting me into your flat and letting me hold your hand because you want me, or because I'm a substitute?"

"A substitute for what?" I whisper, afraid.

"For the person you just lost?" he whispers, barely audible.

But I hear him loud and clear and I reel back, upset. I open my mouth to retaliate, but then stop. Am I using Alex as a substitute for Garth? It wasn't until after Garth died that I realised how much I had loved him. And then he wasn't there for me to do anything about it. What a complicated cycle. Had he not died, maybe I would never have realised what I have, and then when he did die I did realise, but by then nothing could be done. It took him being killed to wake me up. So I have no explanation for Alex, and I bow my head in shame. Have I just been using him for my own gain?

When I don't answer him, he becomes unsettled, understandably. He shuffles away from me and lets go of my hand, and with no feeling from him, I suddenly feel unbelievably cold. "You are!" he whispers, disbelievingly. I can hear the hurt in his voice and it makes me want to grab his hand and squeeze it just like he did mine not two minutes ago, but I can't. I know all I need to say are the magic words, but they refuse to come out of my mouth.

He gets up from the couch and grabs his jacket as he power walks to the door. My face crumbles as I watch him stalk out of my flat, slamming the door behind him. I have to do something. Sure, maybe a part of me is missing Garth when I kiss Alex, but another part of me wants Alex and nobody else. I sprint for the door, wrenching it open and jumping out into the hallway, my eyes frantically looking for him, searching, searching. He's already down one flight of stairs and about to go down the second. He is jogging down the so fast I really have to get the muscles in my legs working to catch up to him. And just as I get close enough to him I roll my ankle spectacularly and sprawl forward in a very unladylike way, ready to crack my head open on the pavement at the foot of the stairs on the ground floor. I give a demented little yelp and it makes Alex turn around. He's too far away to catch me though and my only hope is to grasp onto the stair railing with all my might. My knuckles turn white as I grab onto it and hold on for dear life. My body flings quickly over to the other side of the rail and if I hadn't been holding on I would've most certainly knocked some joint out of place.

Disappointingly Alex doesn't stop, just checks to make sure I can still stand and walks down the driveway towards the street, which is lit only by the dim street lights. It's cold out here, even in the stairwell, where I'm protected by the walls, but I venture out anyway, limping and hopping after him, trying to forget the pain in my ankle.

"Alex!" I screech, the desperation in my voice almost embarrassing. He stops, but doesn't turn around, so I jog awkwardly up to him and plant myself in front of him, trying not to put any weight on my throbbing ankle and not allowing his eyes to see anything else but me. I shrug my shoulders helplessly at him. "Maybe I am …" I don't want to have to say that I'm 'using' him, because that was never, ever my intention, but no other word really springs to mind right now. I have to start again. "Maybe I am a little…different, changed, not me, whatever. Maybe I do miss Garth, but I miss him, that's all. I can't love him now, because he's gone. I couldn't even really love him when he was alive because we had too much history, too much that linked us. So I just miss him. I don't love him. I miss him," the words sound right at last even if I can't convince myself entirely that I didn't love Garth.

Alex sighs. "But I can't kiss you if you think about Garth when I do," he looks me square in the eye. "I'm not going to be a substitute Amy," his eyes go downcast and he stares at the ground all of a sudden. "It sounds greedy, but I just want you all to myself. I know Garth was…special to you," he winces, as if not wanting to say what's coming next. "And risking this sounding amazingly insensitive and brutal, you went to his funeral, you said goodbye, you cleaned out his apartment, now you need to move on," he picks up my hand and holds it again. "You've just gotta keep living Amy. I need to, you need to. And you feel at least a little bit for me…don't you?" I notice that his grip on my hand has got a little tighter and I look down at it gripping mine.

I've got to come up with the right answer. I can't screw this all up now – not after all this, not after everything that's happened. Oh the pressure…I search my conscience for the right words, the words that really explain how I'm feeling. I nod my head strongly, knowing he needs to hear my response now more than ever. "I do, Alex, of course I do," I whisper, actually pulling him to me for a hug just so I can feel close to him again. "I'm just, I don't know. This isn't normal for me," I'm so embarrassed as I reveal my innermost feelings. "I haven't done this in such a long time Alex…I guess I'm a bit rusty."

"So you don't want this to keep going?" he asks, deflated somewhat, his shoulders slumping.

"No! No I do," I laugh – we are getting our wires crossed so badly here!

"Really?" he gives me a shocked look and I notice happily that the darkness of the night hides the bruises on his face. I nod and he loops his arms around my waist loosely. I smile and he kisses me quietly, swiftly, tenderly. I've kissed Alex more this past week than I have anybody in my whole life I think and I love it. I feel like my feet aren't even touching the ground, and the throbbing in my ankle seems to have stopped.

"Yeah," I reply, rolling my eyes teasingly at him as I linger in his presence. "Come back up?" I offer tentatively. I hope he says yes I hope he says yes I hope he says yes.

"Why not?" he smiles such a genuine smile at me that I feel my heart give a flutter. It sounds corny and ridiculous, but my hopes about everything have just soared. How does he manage to do this to me? I shake my head and smile just as he turns so that his back is to me, bending over slightly.

"What are you doing?" I ask, stricken.

"I saw you roll that ankle Amy, don't try to deny it," he replies, a smug smirk on his face. He rolls his eyes at me. "Come on! Haven't you ever had a piggy back before?"

"Oh Alex," I gush in a fluster. "I couldn't possibly!"

"Oh come on Foxy, don't be so shy! Hop on! Or do you really want to climb all those stairs with a sore ankle?" he gestures to his back again.

"Do you really want to _carry_ me all the way up those stairs?" I raise an amused eyebrow at him, adoring how much of my other side Alex constantly brings out in me. I haven't seen this side for yonks…if ever, and I marvel quietly for a second how fun it is.

"Just get up Amy," he says. Is it just me, or do we sound like an old married couple already! Mother of God, I don't know how this happened…but I'm not gonna stop it.

I awkwardly step a bit closer to him, embarrassed still, after all this run around, and he grabs my legs and hoists me up. I give a yelp and look around the dark car park, making sure no one sees this crazy woman I have turned into. I don't say anything as he shuffles up the flights of stairs, me on his back, back to the door of my flat. When we get there he puts me gently down and we walk inside together, our hands brushing lightly, but just enough to form a bit of prickly heat between our skins. We stop in front of the couch, just standing there, as we have done what seems to be so many times before – I associate this couch with Alex now (scary!) – and we stand facing each other and for the first time in my life I think, I don't look away after a few moments when someone looks me in the eye. I just can't tear my eyes away from his and my breathing does its own little dance as we stare at each other. His breath tingles my face, but I love the feel of it as it whispers across my cheeks. It makes me close my eyes briefly for a moment and just take a deep breath and savour the feeling of right now. I look up, opening my eyes again and notice for the first time how intense the colour is in his eyes and it totally takes me by surprise because normally I never get so close to people that I notice such things. I never even noticed things like this in Garth or PJ….oh my god, how does he do this to me?

Things are so silent between us, I feel like the whole street can hear me breathing. I can feel my cheeks flush a little and I close my eyes again, trying to gather myself together. As I do so, taking in a deep gush of air to fill my lungs, I feel Alex's hand run up the outside of my shirt sleeve and my shoulders lift a little as he gets to the top. His hand cups my cheek and that prickly heat from before electrifies second to none and we lean in for a kiss, him planting his lips firmly on mine, and it lasts a life time, just making me melt under his hold, but bloody happy to do so.

I'm pumped, ready to go, even if the fear is ripping through my veins like never before. Chelle is not too happy about it, but what can you do? We need to get this resolved. She's set me up in the sitting room, a room that seems to now be etched in my memory. Why? Because of all the photos of Nadia everywhere, the dirty smudge I can still see on the floor from where Chelle stubbed her toes into the carpet when talking with Alex and I and the gleaming black grand piano that sits in the corner by the window.

She thinks something's going to go wrong, but I told her not to worry. We worked it all out between the three of us this morning at the station. Alex and I already seemed to be thinking the same thing and Tom just helped us reach the conclusion. I considered calling Paul Donald back, but decided this needed to be done by myself. I have to put Daniel Martin in his place and make him damn sure that he cannot pin any blame on Garth for anything, even if he is no longer here. I have to face him with as steely glaze as he does me.

Chelle said he sleeps late on Saturdays. Toe cutters hey, they have the life. Saturdays off – haven't had one of them for a while for myself. Even now it's Saturday and I'm still working! It'll be worth it if I can get him though. What I'm going to say hasn't exactly come to me yet though. Hopefully it will when the time comes. Oh shit I just heard him on the stairs. Chelle and Nadia have gone, somewhere, I don't know, gymnastics training I suppose? So it's definitely him. I draw in a sharp breath as I sit on the window seat, looking out into the front garden. Chelle said he sometimes eats breakfast in here, so he could come in at any moment. If he chooses to sit elsewhere though I don't know what I'll do. If I have to go trooping around this mother of a house to find him and have it out with him…well, I don't think I'll have the guts to do that anyway.

I can hear him rattling around in the kitchen, getting something out of the fridge, pouring cereal, getting a spoon from the drawer. I can hear him padding across the floor, sounding uncharacteristically light, and he pulls a chair out from the table. My head is cocked in the direction of the noises and my heart sinks as I realise he's eating his breakfast at the kitchen table, not in here. Shit. What am I supposed to do now? Wait, the chair has moved again, and as the sound of his walking starts again I notice that today's paper is on the coffee table just metres from me. He'll be coming in for that. My heart sinks even further. Now I can have him where I want him, but what to do once I have him?

He pushes open the French doors, seeing me from the other side even before he has entered the room. Thanks a lot all door makers who made doors out of glass rather than wood! Still, I've caught him by surprise, I can tell. He wasn't expecting me to be here, and why would he?

"Detective," he says, not spitting it out in his usual manner. I really have caught him by surprise! And by the look in his eyes he's not sure what to do. Another point to me. I'm already on top – he doesn't know I'm wearing a wire.

"Martin," I reply, just as sullenly. "Had a nice sleep did we?" I am rooted to the spot, I hope it's not showing in my face. I've got to keep the upper hand in this.

"What do you want Fox?" he snarls. "And why are you in my house?"

"Your wife let me in," I reply pleasantly mocking him. "We've become quite good friends recently. Did she tell you?" Ohhh now I'm just having fun.

Again, I take him by surprise. So used to getting his own way he never thought his wife would go against him. Another point to me. He snatches the paper off the coffee table, trying to make it look as if he is unfazed by my unrelenting grip on his insecurities. He chooses not to answer my question – probably a good thing. Now I can get onto what has been stabbing at me for days now.

"What you're doing to Garth Henderson's memory is the lowest act I've ever known," I whisper, anger and hatred in my voice.

"What I am doing to Garth Henderson's memory is not letting it be hung up as glorified, that's what I'm doing," he replies back, equally as angry. "He was unstable and he let that interfere with his police work, which in turn turned him into a bad cop," he finishes, walking away from me.

That's it. My blood has just boiled a degree over what it ever has before. "Where did you get that?" I screech, getting angrier by the second. "How can you label him as unstable when you didn't even know him? You had precious little to do with Garth, and now, for some ridiculous reason, you're all set to make the rest of the force believe he wasn't a good cop, when he was among the best there ever was," I stalk right up to him and meet him by the French doors. "It's a loss to the force that they no longer have someone like Garth."

"I saw him everyday," he snarls back at me, so deeply that I can smell the cereal on his breath, even though he must've only had a few mouthfuls at the most before he came in here. "And everyday he walked around totally unaware that that position in Cold Case was mine."

"Yours?" I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Oh yeah," he nodded. "He took everything away from me that was always meant to be mine. I've proved myself to everyone by getting every crim I could behind bars, and yet still you all look upon Henderson as fucking God," he turns around to see my reaction to his revolting cursing.

"That's your problem you know Martin," I reply. "You just want to be the big bad cop everyone fears. You stop at nothing and it means you've put away all the wrong people. And now, you're trying to get the juice out of me about anything that might've been wrong with how Garth worked, when really, there's nothing to extract about him as a cop. He did the job and he did it well. More than I can say for you," I step back, satisfied with my words.

That last sentence set alight the bastard inside him though. He lunges at me, his eyes blazing as if he's possessed, and shoves me up against the wall. Looks like Alex was wrong – Martin WOULD beat up a woman. The look in his eyes says that he wants to. My heart leaps into my throat and I push with all my might against his hold, trying, if anything, to get my head away from that mirror corner that poked into the back of my head as he pushed me. It juts painfully into my hair and feels as close to dammit to puncturing the skin at the back of my head.

"You!" he yells, his voice menacing and loud, and all I can think of is his poor little girl, how she must put up with this every time she loses a competition or plays a note at the piano incorrectly. But he is scaring me too. On the way here I prepared myself for something like this. Of course, I didn't know it would happen, but I knew there was always a chance and so I tried to prepare myself, but now that I'm here, and his hands are gripping me so tightly I've lost feeling there, I realise I'm not made of steel. Like I said before, cops aren't made of steel. We like to think we are, and I tried to convince myself I could be in the car on the way here, but we're not. And so as he holds me against the wall ready to beat the living daylights out of me – even though that will achieve little – I try to fight back and actually feel like a cop who can handle stuff like this. But shit, it's not coming to me. I can't breathe I'm so scared, Daniel Martin is a big man, and I don't for a second doubt his strength, especially in comparison to mine and I don't know what to do.

I can hear them rushing to my rescue – thank Christ. Alex barges in first, slamming open the French doors and grabbing martin by the shoulders and hurling him off me. "Oh you're low Martin," he shakes his head and speaks with an anger I've never heard from Alex before. "First you beat me up, and then you go for Amy," he says it in such a way even I feel bad. He slams Martin to the floor, shoving his face into the wool of their spotless carpet. He grunts and moans but Alex has him so hard he has no escape. He can't even utter any other obscenities at me. Jonesy and Joss hurl him to his feet, slap the hand cuffs around his wrists and march him out of the house. It's scary when cops arrest cops – it feels so close to home, and it's a bit scary – but it needed to be done. Alex envelopes me and I take a breath at last in the safety of his arms, letting out a sob I didn't even know I was holding in.

"You did it Amy," he whispers into my ear. I close my eyes in relief, relief that we've got him at last and the police force in Victoria is now a little cleaner and more on the straight and narrow, not riddled with a cop who is hell bent on putting the rest of the world away. I wasn't even strong – I don't think so anyway, Alex might say different – and it still worked out. I can feel my faith coming back. Thank God.

You raise me up

So I can stand on mountains

You raise me up

To walk on stormy seas

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders

You raise me up to more than I can be

Alex is sitting beside me, stroking my hand as I rest at last. The last few days have taken their toll. I don't think I've ever wanted to solve a case so much. My body can finally stop whirring around now. I can relax, confident in the thought that Garth can be remembered in the right way, and the force he served for still as good and clean as he strived to make it.

My head is killing me, but the painkillers are kicking in now. For once I'm glad to be in a hospital, where my head can be tended to, and my bruises massaged. I keep my eyes closed, but I know Alex is still sitting beside me. His warm hand holds mine and stops it from trembling from post event shock. He strokes my hair as I lay there, just concentrating on my breathing. I've been lying here for ages, although probably not as long as Alex or the Boss would've liked. But I had to be sure Daniel Martin was dealt with how I wanted him to be dealt with, so I went straight back to the station, only letting Alex drive because he absolutely insisted. He was quiet the whole way back, seeming to know I just didn't have the words in my brain to reply if he spoke to me.

The moment we were done with Martin, Alex whisked me away, acting the soldier again. I didn't object. For once in my life it felt nice to be looked after and cared for, but in a totally different – not to mention legal – way to what I have experienced in the past. I let him hold my hand as we walked into the hospital, not caring who saw us or what they thought. It felt too good just being together and having him hold onto my hand tightly, like he would never let go. And he hasn't, not from the moment they laid me down here.

I keep my eyes closed, even now, just running through my throbbing head what has happened to me lately. It's about enough for a lifetime I reckon. But I'm still hungry for more. If anything, it's made me sit up and realise it's worth doing, it's worth the risk and it's worth not knowing what's going to happen next. I'm a changed person. And about time too. I know it's for the better, and as I think this I turn my head to Alex, ignoring the pain all the while, knowing when I see his face when I open my eyes it'll dissolve just like the pain in my ankle did. It might still be there but I can't feel it.

"Alex," I whisper, smiling. He lifts his head from where it was resting on top of my hand and smiles back at me. "Can we go?"

He nods at me and smiles warmly, helping me sit up right and then to standing. The temptation to lean heavily on him like some expectant mother is strong but I won't. Can't let myself get too caught up in the moment. Just enjoy what's happening now Amy. He takes my hand again and leads me to the check out desk, fills out the forms for me and then walks me out to the CI car where it is parked under a tree in a shady corner of the hospital car park.

I slide into the passenger seat with a little bit of discomfort, and Alex slides into the drivers seat, our roles suddenly reversed. Now I am the beaten one and being driven home and thought of. We cruise through Mt Thomas and back to my flat. Alex glides into a car space in the parking lot and gets out. I get out myself, not wanting to be a burden to him any more than I already have. Oh stop it Amy, you're not. He wants you all to himself remember! I smile, forgetting I could be a burden to him and we link hands again. We walk up the stairs and I walk inside my flat with him hot on my heels. I turn around and wait for him to pass me, and then reach to lock the door after him. Why are you locking it Amy? My brain is asking me that question a million times over, but I seem to be locking it anyway. There's a hint of anticipation in the air and it's thick with the thought that tonight something's going to change the both of us, even though the day has already done that a plenty.

I wander to the kitchen, pulling off my shoes as I go and dropping them at my feet as I turn on the kettle to make some coffee for us. I think we need it. As I pull the mugs off the tea tree I notice the trembling in my hands is subsiding, but a different tremble is beginning. What the hell is this? Suddenly Alex comes up behind me and puts an arm around my shoulder, setting down the coffee mugs for me and turning off the kettle.

"Amy," he says quietly, a soothing quality to his voice. "Don't worry about coffee," he insists.

"But don't you want one?" I ask, so unsure.

"Amy, I drink far too much of the stuff as it is," he laughs. "Just stop for a moment," he puts his hands over mine to stop them fiddling with the coffee and sugar and spoons. I take a deep breath and look into his eyes.

"I think I need to just….lie down," I breathe.

Alex nods. "I think you do," he walks away from me, towards my bedroom. I follow and meet him at the door, which he is holding open for me. I smile a small smile, one that I think probably shows how tired and emotional I am and walk into the room, turn on the bedside lamp and place myself down on top of the doona. Alex comes around to place some more pillows behind my sore head and as I watch him rearrange them I speak, words that hold a special something now.

"Lie with me?" I ask. Happy to oblige, a cheeky grin almost escaping from his lips, he kicks off his boots again, just like last time, removes his jacket and makes himself comfortable beside me. We just look at each other for the longest time, the dull light from the lamp highlighting just enough for us to need to see. I smile, whispering a thankyou as we lie side by side. I move in, shuffling closer, but not wanting to get too close, and then suddenly something jabs into my stomach, pricking me painfully.

"Ahh fuc…" I mutter, annoyed it has broken the moment. Alex smiles – he knows what it is. I'm still wearing that bloody wire! I've become so accustomed to them during my career that they are almost like a second skin and I forgot, in all the excitement of the day, to dismantle the one I wore to catch Daniel out.

I paw at one of the buttons on my shirt, sticking my hand in the hole and trying to untangle it. But Alex's hand stops mine again. Without speaking I lie back down where I was just seconds before, and Alex paws his own way underneath the fabric of my shirt and finds the wire. I can feel him tugging at it – but it's being stubborn and won't come unstuck from my skin. He roams around some more, intent on unsticking it, and I arch my back, unable to stop myself. I breathe unsteadily for a moment before settling into a steady rhythm. He grabs at the sticky patch and peels it away from the skin just under my rib cage. It burns a little after it comes away and his fingers give it a rub, but it does little to calm the burning.

I bring my hands up and undo all the buttons – this is getting us nowhere. Alex's eyes widen as he watches me and I laugh a little.

"They bloody hurt those stick on thingy's," I say, chuckling and rubbing at the spot where he has removed it. I sit up, my back to him, and pull at the wire, de snaking it from around my torso. I bundle it all up in a big annoying knot and place it on the bedside table and sit for a second, remembering what I have just done. I take a deep breath and think for a moment. Is this what I want? Hmmmm. Would I have undone all those buttons if it wasn't? It must be. Christ, it so is! Live for the moment Amy!

"Alex," I whisper, reaching over to turn off the lamp to set the scene just that little bit more.

He sits up behind me and reaches that hand onto my shoulder, slipping the material of my shirt off millimetre by excruciating millimetre. "Yes?" he knows I've turned a corner…I can hear it in his voice.

"I'm over living life with a caution notice," I say, turning around to face him. "You made me realise that these last few days," I smile at him. "Will you take a risk with me?" I say hopefully, placing my lips softly on his.

"About time you took a risk Foxy," he smiles devilishly and pulls me down onto the bed, smothering me with kisses. "Even heroes have to take risks and have some faith."


End file.
